


Offerings

by fenrislorsrai



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Death, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blood, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Character Death, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Dark Crowley (Good Omens), Death, Don't Have to Know Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Gothic, Healing, Heavy Angst, Human Sacrifice, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Killing, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Marriage Proposal, Memory Loss, Mortality, Murder, Mutual Pining, No Sex, Past Child Abuse, Past Child Neglect, Pining While Married, Psychological Trauma, Rabbits, Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Supernatural Elements, but in the context of animals killed for food in a humane manner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 66,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27297805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenrislorsrai/pseuds/fenrislorsrai
Summary: “Come home with me then. Stay and talk.”“Are you…inviting me in?”  They are nowhere near a building to go into. They are just reaching the first crossroad on a very long walk home. He is clearly asking something Anthony doesn’t quite grasp the meaning of, but can tell it is something huge and life changing.“I don’t know what that means. What does it matter if you’re everywhere and nowhere if I ask you to besomewhere*?”Ế̵͇̠V̷̯̇Ĕ̷̞̬͠R̸̖̭͋Y̵̬̟̅T̶̜̺͠H̴̖͉̾I̸̦̠̽̽N̶̯̈́G̴̫͎͋As a young man, Anthony saw Death and invited it into his life. Gave it a home. Gave it a life.  Bought that time with Death with the blood of others.And now he’s growing older. His last victim nearly took him. Death comes for everyone. Anthony accepts this. Knows he’ll die too.  Have to leave Death alone again. And Death can’t accept that.detailed notes about potentially triggering content at the start of each chapter.On healing from trauma and the importance of stories and rituals for dealing with that which would otherwise destroy us.  On finding the words to describe what happened without those very words causing you greater pain. Also pining while married
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 82
Kudos: 50
Collections: GO Angst Bingo 2020, Trickety-Boo! Exchange





	1. meat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OldBeginningNewEnding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldBeginningNewEnding/gifts).



> Done for the Trickety Boo Exchange 2020. items were marked 0-3 for scary content. This is a 3.
> 
> Prompt I received: "Aziraphale is Death and Crowley is the serial killer who keeps murdering to catch a glimpse of the ethereal being he fell in love with."
> 
> Each chapter will be marked clearly as to triggering content. For people who are subscribed to me for fluff.... MIND THE TAGS. 
> 
> If I missed something in the detailed warnings at start of chapter that you think should have been noted, please leave me a comment so I can add it in to the warnings.
> 
> For those who landed here from the asexual tags on here, I wanna be clear that while Crowley has a huge amount of trauma in this, he's not ace _because_ of trauma. We're not doing that trope. He just is. There's a lot of 'why are you this way' about everything else wrong with him, but the asexuality never comes up as something 'wrong'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific chapter notes:  
> some very vague reference to past homophobia typical of the 1980s. Being disowned by family mentioned. Otherwise, vague  
> a rabbit is killed for food  
> a person is killed, entirely off screen

There were kids out in the graveyard. They were in reasonably modern clothes, so probably real kids. Ghosts would have been dressed differently. As bit of a stupid way to figure out what was real, but that was the way it was sometimes. 

“Oi, what you doing over there!?” 

From their wide eyed staring reaction, he was the ghost here. They looked as if they might bolt. 

He took his time coming over, detoured to look at Snuff where he was shoving his nose over the top of the fence. He used the time scratching the pig to check out the surroundings and see if anyone else was there. He spotted several bicycles over by the gate. They’d closed it after them, so they were polite kids at least. He positioned himself so as to not get between them and the way out. He was close enough to talk without yelling, but not so close he could make a grab for any of them. Not that he could run with his leg still a bit still from healing, but they didn’t know that. 

“You live here?” he heard from the curly haired one. 

“Yeah. Always have.” At least as long as he remembered. 

There was shifting between the kids and some uneasy looks. Murmured “Are you sure?””It's got a cemetery.””None of the other ones did” 

“What are you kids looking for?” 

There was uneasy shifting as they looked between them. The curly haired one finally went with “Dunno.” 

“Why did you come on my property then? The gate was shut.” 

More shifting. The one with glasses straightened up a little “You have a graveyard.” 

“Yep. That what you were looking for?” 

“So what if we were?” The girl with them looked ready for a bit of a fight 

“I know about everyone here. I went to all the funerals.” 

“Oh.” “All of them?” “Did you bury them?” 

“I only buried some of them. My Da buried a lot of them, before… before I buried him.” 

Wide eyed looks. “Aren’t they supposed to be by a church?” from the one with glasses. 

“Probably. Nobody would let my Da bury Mum where he wanted, so he started his own cemetery so he could get buried next to him.” 

“Him?” “He was probably…” 

He made a sharp hand motion to cut off that line of speculation. “S’complicated. Why are you looking for it?” 

There was some more vague muttering as they looked at the ground and scuffed at grass with feet. Then a louder “internet” from the grubby looking one. 

“Ah. What got posted now?” 

“Podcast.” “About murders” “About you.” His eyebrows briefly went up above his sunglasses. Surely… no, the police would have been here, not kids. Teens? Hard to tell. All kids were starting to look so damn young to him now. 

“About me?” He crossed his arms and straightened up a little. Let his eyes roam over the kids before settling on the curly haired one. He flicked his chin up at him. “Why did you come looking for me?” 

“We went to the other place first. But that was all locked up and had a camera and stuff to keep people off. Podcast said the boy that escaped went to a farm nearby. That it was full of graves now and haunted.” He made a face at the haunted part. “We figured a graveyard would be easy to find.” 

“It is full of graves but the only thing haunting it is me.” And one specific other thing, but so far as he knew, he was the only one that saw Him more than once. 

“You’re kind of old…” from the grubby looking one. 

“It's been...” Shit how long had it been? They’d never actually been _sure_ of his age. They’d made a guess based on his teeth when they found him. 

“Forty years” from the one with the glasses. 

“A while then. Boys grow up to be men.” 

They looked very dubious about this. He sighed slightly and squinted before pushing his sunglasses up. Everything was now a smear of too bright colors. He could see a faint bit of paleness where a fifth figure had suddenly joined the kids, listening. It was rare he’d catch sight of Him at all in these in between times. Must be the graveyard. He had no idea what the kids' faces were doing. They sounded simultaneously alarmed and excited. 

“I actually can’t see without my glasses, so if you’re gonna run, now’s a good time.” 

“Why are they that color?” “Do you really have a tattoo?” “Why can you talk?” “Did you see them die?” “You look really normal. Except for the eyes.” “Didn’t your Dad die? How’d you bury him then?” 

“Did this podcast just skip when I got adopted?” Well papers just sort of created as he hadn’t had _anything_. 

“OH.” “That makes more sense” “So that’s your Mum and Dad?””You’re very unlucky to have two sets die.” 

“Cursed probably. Whole cemetery is a bit cursed I s’pose.”. He slid his glasses back into place and kids came back into focus. “It’s what people said at the time.” 

“So people started dying after you got here?” The curly haired one was looking at the side of his face and he rubbed at the tattoo self-consciously. 

“Only Mum and Da. Got sick. Died a couple years apart. The others were friends of theirs where their blood relatives didn’t want to bury them in a family plot.” 

“Why not? Were they cursed?” The curly haired one looked a little too keen about that. 

“Got disowned mostly. Like Da. Caused a real ruckus having me. Messed up all these noble lines.” Not that he had ever wanted that name.da hadn’t either, but that’s how paperwork went. He’d changed it as an adult. 

“Wait, you said you were adopted? Are you secret royalty?” Curly seemed a little too keen about that. 

“No. I definitely am not. S’complicated what happened. Not appropriate talk with children.” 

“We’re teenagers!” 

“Oh well, that’s alright then. Do your parents know where you are?” 

Some more restless shifting. 

“Well that’s NOT.” 

“Why?” The grubby one seemed honestly confused about why. The girl’s face got tight as she realised that her parents _didn’t_ know where she was. He might be being polite with them, but that didn’t make him _safe_. He caught her eye and made an arm gesture towards the road. 

“Off you get then. You want to come back to talk to me, you come when it's light out and you make sure your parents know where you went.” 

“There’s no name on your road.” The one with glasses said this like it was his personal fault. He MIGHT have stolen the road sign, so he wasn’t wrong. 

“Your parents probably know it by a bunch of unkind names I’d prefer not to repeat. Tell them you went to see the old serpent in Hell and they’ll know where you went.” 

“I don’t think they’ll let us come back then.” The grubby one kicked at a tuft of grass. 

“Probably better that way. Out you go.” He waved his hand in a circle indicating they should move along through the gate. 

The girl got moving a bit faster, the boys seemed a little more put out. “If we come back, will you talk to us?” 

“Maybe. Might make you help me with farm chores.” 

“I should bring lunch then.” The one with glasses was clearly preparing a little checklist already. “What do you eat?” 

“Nosey children.” 

The curly haired one made a disbelieving noise at that. 

“I _might_.” He didn’t kill kids. He hoped he never had to. Just didn’t feel _right_. 

“Do you actually have a name, “The Old serpent in Hell” sounds rude.” Glasses was polite at least. 

“What they call me in your podcast of yours?” 

“The Wrong Boy.” The rangey, grubby one looked away, ashamed. It had been a story before. He knew this was something you should never call someone to their face. 

“Ugh. Anthony. That’s my name now. Not that I expect to see you back.” 

* * *

* * *

He definitely wouldn’t see those kids again. Not if their parents had a bit of sense. Well. Probably. Forty years. Really. Long enough for the story to die down and get mostly forgotten, If the blasted internet would ever let it go. That was part of why he’d changed his last name. Stop having people look him up. They could harass some other Anthony Palmer. He wasn’t that anymore. Now he had to find whatever podcast had dug back up his past again. 

Listening to it was an _experience_. This had clearly taken a more supernatural turn than most of the previous ones. Those had all been true crime sorts of things. It was a blessing and a curse that he didn’t remember it. So it was all after the fact investigations as the only eye witness couldn’t talk at the time and now didn’t remember any of it. So they’d been mostly factual, based on police reports at the time. This one had clearly taken the sensational old articles about Satanic involvement as being _true_ and then gone even further into conspiracy territory, like he was some kind of inhuman monster. He was, just not _that_ kind. 

He nearly turned it off when he heard a familiar voice with its baffling accent being touted as a “local expert”. Shadwell. At least he was a useful distraction with his wild theories about Satanic involvement and strange sigils found around the area. He’d made some of those, just for Shadwell. He half listened to the man going on about the disappearances in the area while he did housework. He’d gotten into the habit of keeping things spotless as a teen and it had served him well ever since. 

Shadwell was going on about how this was part of some kind of continuing cult activity. The long string of disappearances over the decades were enough to give the area an evil reputation. One foul enough to have foreigners visiting the area. He’d seen them out at night, using a theodolite to plot the places of disappearances against ancient sites of witchcraft. 

This made him sit up and listen carefully. Then restart the podcast to listen again. That wasn’t just Shadwell’s usual ramblings. This was _new._

Was there some sort of pattern he’d been unaware of? The description of the person out at night didn’t sound like anyone he knew in the area. Shadwell had apparently talked to them several times about their project. He’d have to keep an eye out for this new player. 

Shadwell had apparently been a lead into even wilder theories. Part of it had him chuckling at how he might be some kind of literal demon spawn. That was why his eyes had come out weird. Not head trauma and neglect. He was pretty sure this was actually the plot to something he’d read aloud. 

“Did you hear that? I think that’s the plot to one of those spooky ones you had me read. Fancy me as the monster! Remind me of the title next time I see you. If you’re listening.” In these between times he really didn’t know if he was around. Sometimes he got glimpses of him at work, but could hear nothing back. He wasn't sure when he’d get to see him again. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. It gave him something to hunt. 

He’d need to be careful at night though. No telling who might be watching these days. Perhaps they’d be the _right_ one. He didn’t think he’d run into witches in quite awhile. The sort that liked to play at that, at being wicked, they learned not to lurk in graveyards at night. The ones that didn’t…. Well they got to stay there. 

* * *

* * *

A brand new vinyl sign from the local print shop stuck to the gate informed people that there was no trespassing. Yes, this was the place from the podcast. Yes, the Wrong Boy lived here. No, he wasn’t interviewed. No, he didn’t want to be interviewed. The cemetery was closed for tours unless you already knew the name of someone buried there. 

He also got a new sign with his price for meat saying “new client special” and quadrupled his prices. Someone besides kids would come calling and be willing to pay a premium as a way to get him to talk to them. Pay for the signs at least. 

He got a big map to work with as well. Plot out all the points in the area and see if he was getting predictable in his old age. There were only so many places he could work anymore. There were cameras these days. Seen a bloody _drone_ recently. But still, he knew when things were _right_. Right person. Right time. Right place. 

He’d never been back to that presumed point of origin. It was even more cursed than here. Still people went and stared at it before coming here. Accidentally retracing his route here so many decades ago. He’d locked eyes with some that had come looking for him and _known_. Had felt that deadly connection. But wild, eager, and bloody to his steadiness. He’d been patient. They’d followed him. It was only fair he followed them. They’d come to him, shown themselves. Initiated the process. Couldn’t much do that anymore. Not enough of the old timers left who could watch the place for a few days while he went off to see someone about a pig. 

Now it was all frozen straws. No reason to be gone so long. No need. No excuse. He had no one to look after the animals anymore. And he was getting old. He couldn’t keep doing this. Had to anyway. He’d get caught eventually. The world was closing in around him. He’d be a fool not to take what was offered. 

He was right in that people were willing to pay a premium so they could try to talk to him. Sneak a peek at his eyes. The glasses stayed on for them. 

“Y’know what size rabbit you want? Why don’t you come back and we’ll pick one out the right size and I can cut it up for you right now.” That they were looking at an alive and friendly rabbit halted some in their tracks. Stammering over how they maybe weren’t going to have time to cook right away so perhaps frozen would be better? Maybe pork would be a better idea? And he’d show them a bunch of cuts in the freezer, take a bit of pity on them. Not show them things with the head still on and looking at them. 

Some he’d lock eyes with and feel that bit of recognition and _rightness_ there. “Can I watch?” _Of course_ they wanted to watch. Yep, you can watch. You _should._ And then he’d speak with them, answer their questions about his bloody origins while they picked out a rabbit. What brought you all the way out here? Ah, podcast, yep I see. Read all the articles too. Read about the possible serial killer too? Ah, I got some good details on that. 

Watch them as they wanted to know how he was going to dispatch the rabbit. Quick, just slide his head under this little bar here, backwards tug, and the neck’s broken and then it's just a matter of bleeding and skinning it. Sometimes they were satisfied, fascinated. They saw the _rightness_ in that. Watched him peel the hide off and prep their rabbit and they went away unsettled but satisfied. 

Sometimes they were disappointed it was quick. Rabbit went from alive to dead so fast that it didn’t really notice it was gone. Then he would feel that brush of hands over his own, see the ring on his own finger briefly before it faded away. And he would look over at this person who was so eager to hear the grizzly details and was disappointed it hadn’t been painful and see the _wrongness_ in them. See exactly where each cut should go to make things _right_. 

Then he had rabbit for dinner himself and a long night making sure no one realised their final stop had been to see him. They’d wanted to know death. So Anthony had introduced them. 


	2. house of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd had years to develop routines. Build a life together. Anthony's ill health is about to disrupt that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> specific warnings for this chapter:  
> Some past abuse and neglect of Anthony is hinted at.  
> Fell having lost his temper and injured Anthony is described.  
> Anthony aggravates a recent injury and his pain and difficulty moving is described  
> Some general body horror, but mild. The nonhuman character has trouble holding a human shape

Bodies were easy to deal with. Cars were hard. Especially now that they had GPS trackers in so many of them. These ones with the keyless start were also irritating since they weren’t as attractive to thieves. He had to be obvious about having dropped the keys by it to get someone to jack it. Leaving it running sometimes did just the trick. It was late enough in the day he probably couldn’t just leave this one at the bus stop. He’d have to go somewhere further away and make a long trek back. He’d ditched one into the nearby canal before but he was now especially wary of repeating things. 

“I thought you weren’t going to do this at home.” There was a slight note of disapproval there, which was unusual. 

“He delivered himself. I’m not going to just pass that over.” 

“You are going to get caught.” That sounded genuinely worried and he looked over to the passenger seat. There was Fell in all his pale, earth tones and fretful glory now that his work was done. He looked almost human this way, but there was a slight flickering to him like the cycle of a fluorescent light. 

“Are you actually _worried_ about me?” He didn’t look directly at him, that was a good way to get a headache when he was shifting like this. “I’ll be yours eventually, do with as you like.” 

“Yes, well, how is your leg?” He _did_ sound genuinely worried. 

“Fine, it's all healed. Just don’t like overworking it.” He could reassure him while also being honest. Fell might be the only person he could truly be honest with. “I’m trying to decide where I want to dump the car. I like the canal, but I think the GPS will let it be found too fast. If I want it stolen, I’ll have to go all the way into the city and dump it. It's too late in the day for the bus station. I’ll end up pretty sore by the end of this if I have to do that.” 

“That seems sensible. I don’t fancy the state it will put on you, but if needs must.” 

“Did you have a better suggestion?” 

“Unfortunately, no.” 

“Well then you’ll get to enjoy riding out with me.” 

“That’s the spirit. Look on the bright side. I shall try to be stimulating company.” 

“You always are.” He gave a genuine smile at him and got a slight shift in appearance, where he briefly looked much more human and solid, like he could reach out and touch him. He knew better. 

He got the gate open and took the car through it before hopping out to close it again. He carefully chained it shut and made sure the “closed” sign was hung up properly. He settled back into the car and focused on the road ahead. 

“Soooooo, did you think there was any sort of occult significance to where I’ve been?” 

“I can’t really say.” 

“Oh…. interesting.” 

There were a great many things Fell couldn’t say. Not that he didn’t want to answer, but was prevented from doing so by some form of geas or his own caution. Getting enough of his name to have something to call him had been in that category. His actual Name was something that he both couldn’t say and would actually harm Anthony to say aloud. Fell was close enough to feel _right_. There was some compulsion there in the name. He _had_ to respond to it. He couldn’t be truly commanded or controlled, but it got his undivided _attention_. Anthony took that seriously and never spoke that name where others could hear. 

“I see I’ll have to narrow that down. Have I been making some sort of occult pattern with where I’ve been killing?” 

“Not that I am aware of. There are of course various things that humans call occult patterns that do not actually have any power behind them and it might fit some of those.” 

“You sounded worried earlier. Am I getting too predictable?” 

“I think circumstances will see you caught eventually.” There was that worried edge back to tone. 

“Do you want that?” Anthony looked at him 

Fell was silent. He wrung his hands so that they passed partially through each other, like flickering photos superimposed on each other. The ring jumped around, each time on a different finger. There was that brief flash of Fell’s burning blade, being tested against the edge of not-flesh. 

“Am I making some sort of pattern with where I get rid of cars?” 

“That’s what worries me. The technology. These maps that can trace where everyone has been. That, that is closer to making some occult sigil than anything you’ve been doing.” 

Anthony was silent for a while, focusing on driving. He could speed through this section of road, but needed to keep an eye out just in case police were sitting at the cross road here. Caution had kept him free. Once past all the spots a vehicle could sit unseen, he picked up his speed to the sort other locals used. Fell sometimes volunteered information like this and he just needed to figure out what he wanted to be asked and couldn’t tell. But could answer that he couldn’t say. 

“I saw a drone flying overhead a few weeks ago. Not a fan of those.” 

“Dreadful things. I’ve had to avoid them a few times.” 

Interesting, interesting indeed. So far as he knew he was the only one who ever talked to Fell. He knew there were a few people that had _seen_ him a few times, but not like he did. They’d established that early on. That was something Fell _could_ tell him. That the drone had to be avoided… 

“How do you like this car compared to the Bentley?” 

“Well this one does seem a bit more reliable....” 

“Slander. She’s an antique. She’d allowed her fits of pique. I suppose I could look into getting something newer.” 

“Oh please don’t. You do so enjoy taking her out for your Sunday drive. Even if it does occasionally turn into a Sunday walk.” 

“I have a phone for just that reason.” The phone was currently sitting back at the house, being used to play music to an empty parlor. It would show him as home and active to any cursory data inspection. He knew better than to let that be traced. He didn’t think he was being watched, but better to assume he was. He’d deal with the body when he got back. Well, dinner first, then body. He’d taken time to clean himself up and get the rabbit in the slow cooker. No sense wasting a good rabbit, especially when he’d have company. A little smile played over his face at that prospect. 

“Where did you see the drone at? Shouldn’t like to run into it on my way back. Since you’ve come with.” Not that Fell would exactly be riding back with him, but he might stay nearby. He didn’t quite understand how he got about. He didn’t seem to _need_ to travel by vehicle, but could if he cared to. 

“Up by the marl pit by the bomb crater. Well away from the route back. Where did you see one?” 

“Following along the road it looked like. Close to some service lines. Might be maintenance.” He shrugged noncommittally. “I’ll come back along as many of the old sunken lanes as possible. Tree cover should keep us out of view, even if it is about.” 

“Ah, yes, that would be good. I’ll keep that in mind.” Fell settled down and seemed a bit more solid again. He’d clearly given him some piece of information he needed. 

“You really are worried.” He glanced over at him, where he incongruously had his hand on the grab handle above the door. 

“Watch the road!” 

“That’s not what you’re worried about. I would think you’re actually worried about _me_.” 

“Must be. I’ll collect you eventually.” There was an odd note of worry there, a brittleness to his voice like this was somehow a lie. 

“Is something actually wrong?” He didn’t expect an answer. Fell could almost never warn him directly of things. 

“Nothing for you to worry about.” 

“Just for you to worry about. And that is very concerning. There shouldn’t be anything for you _to_ worry about.” 

“Just you.” 

“I can’t kill you, so you’re as safe as could be. We’ll have dinner later, even.” 

“Yes, I should like that.” The smile was quite genuine. 

“Was there anything new you wanted to listen to then? Otherwise I just have the same playlist as last few times.” 

“Oh, there were some modern ones you had recently I rather liked. I never know the names of them.” 

He got to listen to Fell’s rendition of some music that he didn’t quite remember the name of either, but could pull up based on the day he’d listened to it. He usually had some kind of music or podcast or radio show playing at the house just to hear words. He let the music player suggest things to him frequently so he could hear new things. New words in new combinations. He worried sometimes if he didn’t keep hearing new words he’d somehow start to lose the ones he already had. They’d been so hard to get in the first place. Even now he had a tendency sometimes to slur them together or mishear where the beginning and end of words were if they were said too fast. It was always a work in progress. And he was so often alone, he had no one to talk to but the animals and Fell, neither of whom talked back most of the time. There were just these brief periods right after he’d killed where he could interact with Fell, who seemed just as eager to talk about everything and nothing during this time he could be heard. 

“I think it was some kind of bebop, but with a saxophone…” 

“I am going to make a playlist of single genres so you stop classifying everything as classical, rap, bebop, and American. American isn’t even a _genre_.” 

“It’s the one where they have an accent!” 

“I am going to make _several_ country music playlists so you can tell them apart. And write on the board in the kitchen which one it is today.” 

“Oh dear, that sounds dreadful.” 

“You’ll find some you like, surely, or you’ll be better able to recognise which ones are which type then.” 

“That’s really very sweet of you.” 

“Self serving. S’nice hearing which ones you liked. Then I can remember when I listened to them and know you were around that day.” 

“I do like being around when I am not required elsewhere.” 

What actually required Fell’s personal attention was a bit of a mystery. He’d only vanished suddenly a few times. Only to reappear an hour or so later, seeming rather out of sorts. He often seemed guilty when he reappeared. As if being called away to whatever required his personal attention reminded him he shouldn’t be spending time with Anthony. He’d grown a little more relaxed about it over the decades, but still, it cast a bit of pall over their remaining time. 

They had gotten to the outskirts of town now and Anthony needed to pay more attention to where he could dump the car to make sure it was stolen. He found a spot by a block of businesses that had bars over the windows and checked for cameras. He saw one, but someone had tossed a plastic bag at it and managed to block the lens. Perfect. 

“We’ll be getting out.” 

He pulled up by the kerb where it was blatantly marked no parking and hopped out. Clean up was minimal as he’d worn gloves. The donkey jacket and trousers he only wore for this sort of thing would be carefully cleaned when he got home, then hung up in a dry cleaning bag. A quick once over of the seat with a lint roller from his pocket would get rid of the most obvious traces he’d been there. Thieves would leave newer, fresher traces if the car was ever recovered. 

It was a big enough vehicle he’d been able to drop the back seats and slide his bike into the boot without having to take the front wheel off. It made getting it back out that much faster. He left the key fob on the seat and the engine running as if he’d foolishly run into the chip shop to pick up an order. 

And he was gone in less than a minute. Fell would follow him shortly. When he went places with Fell they were often totally ignored. He wasn’t sure if Fell did that on purpose or it was a side effect of his nature, whatever that was. Either way, Fell coming with him meant he’d get a brief chance to slip away from the vehicle mostly unnoticed. Someone really paying attention would see him, but the casual viewer just sort of overlooked the area with Fell in it. The car would just appear at some point in their peripheral vision, as if it had just driven up. 

He got going as quick as he could in the early evening traffic. The sooner he was out of town, the less chance of being observed. He could take breaks once he was on lanes he knew wouldn’t be monitored. Except for drones. And witches. Funny world to have both together at the same time, the science and the occult right on top of each other. 

He knew Fell avoided cameras as best he could. When he’d first gotten a smart phone and been showing off that you could take photos with it, he’d accidentally reversed the camera into selfie mode and taken a picture of them both. Fell had demanded, no, _commanded_ , he delete it sight unseen. That had taken some doing but, he’d stumbled through doing so while Fell told him what was on screen and where to place his fingers. No explanation had ever been given. This was something akin to when he’d first gotten a name to call him by. Something about that image either would give him power over Fell or hurt him if he saw it. Possibly both. But now, with how worried Fell had been… maybe the worry had been Anthony could hurt _him_ , not the other way around. 

He didn’t seem to have the same issue with the street cameras everywhere these days, at least when he was in the car. But sometimes he’d abruptly circle around Anthony. He thought it had been to dodge people who couldn’t see him and would walk through him. But now that he thought about it… Fell had gone more places with him when he was younger. Was more eager _to_ go places. 

It had made sense. As they’d gotten to know each other better, Fell was more eager to just spend time with him. And it did apparently cost Fell something to not make people's eyes bend around where he was. Going out to dinner was a great pleasure, but flagging down a server was often difficult. He supposed that was better than people staring at him while he talked to someone no one else could see. And he’d learned to cook better and better as he got older. And now… well once Fell trusted him enough to ask… now they could actually have dinner together. 

But free roaming cameras Fell couldn’t even see until they were practically on top of him… if that truly could hurt him some way… the modern world would hurt him eventually. It was coming for them both. 

He turned onto one of the sunken lanes where he’d be safe from cars and paused. His leg was starting to ache from peddling so he slowed to a halt so he could rub at the thigh muscle. His trousers are too thick to actually feel the scar Michael had given him, but he knew it was there. 

Fell didn’t appear so after he caught his breath, he got back in motion. He probably wouldn’t see him until he got back to the farm if he hadn’t caught up with him there. He might well be tending to some task he had in between so they’d have more time together. 

He wasn’t compelled to stay with Anthony, he just usually did so now as long as he could. But as soon as he started to have trouble looking as soft and human as Anthony usually saw him, he would insist he had to go. Usually he’d wait ‘til Anthonywas asleep or looked away, but if he was agitated enough, he would sometimes just blink out of reality. 

One time he’d made the mistake of calling after him “Fell, no, stay!” 

He reappeared instantly and pressed his face into Anthony’s, literally. His face was partially pushed _through_ his sunglasses, so the lenses sat over the eye sockets while the orbits of his eyes were superimposed over the frames. Anthony could feel the arms of them burning with cold against his temples. Where his nose was pressed into his, there was an inescapable scent of old blood and a strange damp, fetid scent of a building so old the stone was rotting away as it collapsed into the earth. 

“Never do that again!” His voice was an overlay of the voices of people that Anthony had seen die and would give anything to hear them just one more time. 

“Yes. Go.” He’d barely been able to talk from the feeling of all the air being pressed out of him. It feel like fingernails raking across the inside of his ribs where Fell was touching him. Standing partially IN him. Then Fell was gone just as suddenly. 

His eyes had been bloodshot for days and there’d been a ringing in his ears that drowned out all other sounds. It was terrifying and isolating as he’d been unsure if his hearing would ever return or he’d be trapped in the wordless hell of his childhood again. At least his dreams had been productive, telling him more about his forgotten past, even if they left him drenched in sweat. 

He never again asked Fell to stay longer than he was willing. 

* * *

* * *

He went through several gates along the lane to keep sheep in. Every dismount made him more aware of how much his leg hurt. He swallowed down a sob as he turned out onto his own road to the farm. The lights were on and he was so tired by this point. Thank goodness he’d made dinner beforehand. And there was Fell inside the gate, just behind the sign about the podcast. Just catching sight of him, there and looking so human, was enough to let him push through the pain. Just a few more things and he could just spend time with Fell. 

“Anthony, you look _dreadful_.”  
“I think my leg is less healed than I thought.” He limped through the gate and wheeled his bike into the little butchering area and turned on the hose with weary hands. He could stand on one leg and lean his weight on the table. He used the power nozzle on the hose to clean every speck of dirt and debris off the bike so there would be nothing left on it to show where he’d been. He sluiced the water towards the drain he’d washed the blood down earlier. The body was neatly wrapped away in the fridge. To be dealt with… not tonight. A risk. But a greater risk if he pushed himself to collapse. 

“I would say so.” Fell looked like he wanted to touch him but that would only make things worse right now. Steal his strength away that much faster. He could see Fell’s fist balled up and there was a waver to his form. Little cracks where light spilled out along the seams of his clothes as if they would split and fall away. Worry was making him lose the hold on his form. He might decide to leave early at this rate. He couldn’t bear that. 

“Let’s just eat dinner. Just… just… I just need to sit for a minute.” He’d thankfully left the cane in the umbrella rack inside the door. He thought he was done using it. He’d been profoundly wrong. 

The music was still on in the house, working through a playlist of things he listened to while cleaning. It was somewhere near the end of it and would need restarting soon. This had taken longer than he thought. 

He managed to hobble to the kitchen chair and just collapsed in it, stretching out his leg with a hiss. 

“You can’t do this again until you go to a doctor.” There was that slight edge of _command_ there rather than request. 

“If I opened it back up, I can’t go to a doctor. How the hell do I explain a wound like that?” He knew he was being stubborn, foolishly so, but if Fell thought he could just _command_ him after all this time... 

“Something objected to you killing it and you ended up on the wrong end of a blade. You suffer the indignity of the doctor _thinking_ you knifed yourself when a pig headbutted you and then stapled it closed like a stubborn old fool.” He probably should have gone when it first happened, but he had packed it full of antibiotic powder and a rubber drain and stapled it closed and he thought it had worked. Fell had been worried then, but hadn’t suggested he seek help. Something _was_ wrong. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll go to the doctor. I refuse to die from this.” 

“You almost did the first time.” 

“Yes well, then you’d have had me, so it would have worked out. Something, some _one_ , will get me eventually.” 

“Anthony, you could just... stop… you’re not that young anymore.” 

“No more at the house. Even if they offer themselves up. Only ones I plan. I promise. Don’t… don’t leave..:” 

“No more until your leg really, truly is healed. You’re…” Fell looked away. 

“You can’t tell me how sick I am, can you?” 

Fell was silent. 

“Is it more than the leg?” 

More silence. 

“Do you know when I’m going to die?” 

Fell looked like he was falling apart, the edges of him unravelling and a reddish glow building beneath his skin like the sun through closed eyelids. Anthony could feel a building pressure in his ears, a noise unheard but felt in his teeth.. 

“I’ll go to the doctor. Get a physical while I’m there. Just not tonight. I’ll rest first. Let’s have dinner while we can. Give me a nice memory to play over and over while I can’t see you. I’ll miss you.” 

“I know. The things you do to see me…” 

“And now, now is when you finally tell me no more. Was it the threat of country music playlists?” 

“You ridiculous man, joking about that now…” The pressure in his ears abated and Fell was back to looking pale and soft. “ I’ll still be here even if you can’t see me. Even if you will make me suffer through American music.” 

“Tell me which ones of the American music you liked while I get my strength together and we’ll have dinner.” 

Fell seemed a little at loose ends but focused on remembering what he’d heard This was something he _could_ do.The playlist he’d had on the day where he cleaned all the rabbit cages and put in brand new chew toys for them, that had the lady with the beautiful, melancholy voice, singing about rust. He’d liked most of those. Oh and the day where he’d played the American gospel tunes, the old ones, with the singer who was clearly very old, you could hear it in his voice. He’d played it on the day he’d been limping so badly from the damp and had actually paid to have takeout delivered all the way out here as he couldn’t stand long enough to make himself dinner. 

Even if Fell couldn’t remember names of any of the individual songs, it heartened him to hear he had been _there_ those days. To know Fell had stayed even when he was doing boring things. Or when he’d been in pain and spent much of the day scrubbing the baseboards as he worked out his anger at himself for getting injured so badly. 

“Alright, I'll use those as the basis for what I put together. Let me get us dinner.” 

He could stand again though he needed the cane to feel secure. It was pain he could work through. It meant extra trips back and forth to the table as he dished out the rabbit stew. He had his own regular dish. Fell’s was one he’d dug up while disposing of a body, when he was still burying them. Something about the bronze bowl with the hammered pattern had felt _right_ to him. It was the same sort of _rightness_ he felt in killing. 

It was probably a priceless artifact. It was to him as it meant he could eat _with_ Fell. He'd remembered the bright glow of Fell’s eyes when he’d shown it to him and the unearthly echo in his voice when he’d asked where he found it. Why had he brought it home? For you. I felt like it was _for_ you. Fell had told him to close his eyes and he’d felt the weight lift from his hands and he’d gasped at being able to physically _interact_ with him. 

Now, after a bit of trial and error, he could fill it with something he’d cooked and Fell could _have_ it. They had to eat in total darkness, but they could do it together. Fell’s voice sounded different like this in the darkness. Earthier, rougher, with a bit of a growl to it that he had grown to love. He loved any time he got to hear his voice. Even the times it hurt. Sometimes there was a lapping noise he politely ignored and the crack of bones that was much harder to ignore. Fell would eat anything put before him and then look just as prim and proper and spotless when he brought the light back up so he could make his way to bed. 

“I know we’d usually stay up talking until late, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps an early bed? I am sure to be here in the morning.” He sounded firm on that, as if it was a solemn promise he would be here. 

“Alright, I think I can make it upstairs. The couch is closer, but I won’t be able to stretch my leg. Which I should.” 

“Whatever you think best. You look tired, but considerably less peaky.” 

“Be like old, old times.” 

“Oh?” 

“I don’t know exactly when you came. How close you watched me before I could talk to you.” 

“I've always been here.” There was an overlap of that soft and fussy voice with that deeper growl. It was _true_. He felt it trace across his skin, intimate and gentle but with the sharpness to it, like drawing a blade across his face. He wasn’t sure if Fell knew his voice had slipped. 

“Well, it’ll be familiar then.” He limped to the base of stairs and leaned the cane against the wall where he could get it in the morning. He climbed the stairs on all fours like he’d done for so much of his childhood. The stairs had baffled him for so long. 

He’d had trouble even moving normally at first. Crawled so many places. Even now he almost expected Da to come stomping up behind him in those oversize orthopedic shoes and lift him up. It had _terrified_ him the first few times. He’d fought and kicked and hissed wordlessly before he realized he’d be released as soon as he was up the stairs. By the time he was a teen, before Da got sick, he’d sometimes climb the stairs on all fours just to hear him growl behind him “Yer too big for this, this is the last time…” 

Right now he could feel Fell looming behind him as he went up the stairs, like he’d pick him up as he had his Da when he’d gone. He wondered if he’d see him again. Maybe he’d dream about Da tonight. 

Once up the stairs, he could use the wall to lean on to make it to bed. He stripped off his shirt and struggled with the trousers. He rubbed a hand along the bad leg and could feel a hotness there and how tight it was. Tomorrow. 

He put the phone on the charger and swiped through the audiobooks on it. “What did you want to listen to while I’m asleep?” 

“Perhaps something light, with a happy ending.” 

“Alright, I found something about nine hours long you might like. I set the timer to start it in a half hour downstairs..” 

“It's sweet of you to bother at all, especially when you’re hurting.” 

“M’not sweet. There’s a dead man in my meat locker.” 

“Well, no one’s perfect.” 

He laughed at that. All he wanted was more time with Fell. And here he would have to waste much of it sleeping. No telling when he’d be able to see him again. 

“Now go to sleep, my dear, and dream of whatever you like best.” 

He grumbled slightly at how sweet that sounded but he loved it. Loved Fell. Being able to speak with Fell was what he liked best. That was what he would dream of. When he’d learned how to do that. Had invited Death into his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashback time. How the heck did you end up living with DEATH?  
> (spoiler: they're idiots)
> 
> This will be the graphic murder and body horror chapter that earns it the warning tags!


	3. Sweet dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLASH BACKS BABY!
> 
> Anthony remembers his parents dying. He remembers when he first realized he was capable of killing. And he kills Gabriel but it all goes a bit pear shaped.
> 
> He makes very bad life decision... and its not the murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific warnings: (earning that M rating and two archive warnings this chapter!)  
> Medical neglect  
> Cancer  
> Systemic Homophobia - denial of hospital visitation rights  
> Death after long illness  
> Maggots  
> attempted arson  
> A man is stabbed with a pitchfork  
> Animals injure themselves in terror  
> A fox kills a rabbit  
> Gabriel is graphically murdered  
> Gabriel's entire concept of self is destroyed, beyond just the violent murder  
> Murder includes trauma to legs, facial trauma, throat cutting, trauma to eyes, textural descriptions of knife in use  
> Body horror - human disintegration  
> body horror- non human entity faking being human  
> Threats of additional murder
> 
> I probably missed something. THERE WILL BE BLOOD.

The dreams he has when Fell is with him are strange and revelatory. Sometimes he can control what he dreams about. Usually he tries to go back further into his past. To try and go past that point where he remembered nothing from before being picked up, as if he’d fallen from the sky. Retreading old jumbled memories often revealed lost pieces. Ones from when he was just found are particularly enlightening as he remembered the sounds people made at him but hadn’t understood them as _words_ at the time. Redreaming them often reveals the actual words. Or what he believes were the words. He doesn’t know. He feels like they’re true, and that’s what really matters. 

Sometimes he skips through several fragments before he can find the beginning of a memory. He wants to remember now how he learned to speak with Fell. But then his memory skips around, unsure where the start of that memory is. When he killed Gabriel? When he realized he could really harm a human? When he had seen Fell take his Da? When Mum had died? The first time he remembers seeing Fell? 

His dream skips to that. 

\---- 

Da felt something was wrong but couldn’t name it. He’s sick now. Sometimes moods like this take him. Anthony looks anyway. He sees part of a figure in the mist, only half resolved and visible more from the way the fog moves around it. He sees pale hands cradling a misshapen lamb. They look so strong and so tender, as if something terrible is paused in wonder at something so fragile and fleeting. He longs for something he will have no name for until he experiences it decades later. He tells Da none of this. He finds the premature lamb in the morning, still and cold. There was nothing he could have done for it even if he’d found it that night. Something else had found it and comforted it. 

\---- 

Fell. He wants to dream of Fell. His mind is not cooperating. 

\--- 

It is just before Mum dies. He is at the hospital. Da is not allowed in. He isn’t next of kin. Anthony is allowed. He does not call Lee Mum now. Not in front of the staff. He knows why. He wants to anyway. They believe him that Lee is his father. He is. He’s his Mum too. Had him call him that ever since he’d come home from school confused about why he didn’t have one. He’s got paperwork that says he is. 

The nurses aren’t unkind. But they aren’t kind either. Look in the room. Talk. _Don’t touch_. He hears them at the nurses station, we shouldn’t let him in it. It’s that plague. Serves him right. Imagine if the boy gets sick. What a tragedy! Mum is dying right here, now. Lee hears them. He checks himself out. There is nothing more they can do here but hurt him. Hurt his family. 

His skin is mottled all different colors from the cancer, his eyes gone yellow from organ failure. It is the first time Da has been allowed in the hospital room since Lee’s relatives kicked him out. After kicking Lee out so many years ago. A final cruelty. _He deserves it_. Mum does not. Da picks him up as if he weighs nothing. He weighs less than Anthony now. He says he feels like he’s flying this way. 

The dream shifts and he is the one lifting up Da now. 

He knows now he can not get it just from touching. Others still think so. It doesn’t matter if Da touches him. It matters if he touches Da. He has to keep everything spotless. Any little germ could get Da sick. They have been to the hospital so many times. Everytime they fear Da won’t go home. He’s lighter every time he picks him up to go home. 

He carries Da up and down the stairs at the end. He can still walk. Stairs are too much. He is vehement they will not move. He will not let _Them_ try to snatch this home back. He will die here. He will stay here with Lee. With Anthony as long as he can. 

He is rotting away by the end. They try a new-old thing to buy more time. He hears the maggots chewing away the dying flesh. It buys just enough time. 

Fell takes Da on his birthday. It is a terrible and wonderful present. Da is ready to go. Anthony is an adult. He will not go to foster care. He will have the farm. He will have the graveyard. He will be alone but he will only have to care for himself now. He will be free. He is not ready for such a gift and responsibility. He accepts it anyway. 

He is asleep when Fell comes. It is a dream in a dream. It is a wonderful thing. He is not afraid to touch Da. It does not matter anymore. He is no longer sick. He can never be sick again. He lifts him up from what is left, strong hands peeling away gnarled and warty skin that broke and oozed constantly. He does not see Da go. He is cold when he wakes. He is happy for him and misses him terribly. 

\---- 

He does not want to hear the words Gabriel said about him. About his parents. It is part of the story but he wants nothing to do with that. Dream of what he likes _best._ That is what he likes _least_. Rabbits. He likes rabbits. And those lead him to Fell again and again. It is the night of the fire. 

\---- 

Something isn’t right. Maybe it is a sound. Maybe it is the absence of sound. Something… something about the night is wrong. He isn’t sure what draws him outside but there is a flicker of light in the barn where there should be none. Wavering, shifting light. _Fire_. No time for shoes, he runs across the yard to the barn in socks. 

He hits the light switch by the door and in the flash of light sees someone standing there with a flaming, rolled up newspaper in hand. The man curses as he’s brought his arms up to shield his eyes at the sudden flood of light and singed his eyebrow with the flame. There’s a smoking bale of hay scattered on the ground, curling with flame. He can hear the panicked thump of rabbits trying to run but they are trapped in their cages. 

He grabs the closest thing to hand and thrusts it at the man, catching him in the meat of the thigh with the pitchfork. He keeps pushing forward using his momentum to just keep going, pushing them both backwards. He can feel the tines sliding deep into the leg, scraping along the bone. The man shrieks and beats at him with the burning brand as Anthony just keeps pushing, taking the terrible weight of him on the fork. Out, out, out! 

They’re out the other side of the barn now, out into the night. He smells his hair singeing and feels the heat of the brand thrust into his face. His glasses protect his eyes. The heavy wool jumper protects his chest and arms. The other man is not so lucky, the sparks melt bits of his coat into stinking plastic that cling to his skin. 

He drops the pitchfork and gives the man a final shove. He collapses in the dooryard. He shouldn’t be going anywhere fast with the fork through him. 

He wheels and runs back to the barn, pulling down one of the heavy old towels from the rack by the cleaning area and beats at the crackling flames in the hay. He dances around feeling the heat on his feet, but bless wool socks. Bless his sheep. He’s terrified and uncomfortable but he’s not burning. Yet. He beats down the flames and uses the towel to flap the burning chunks out the front into the muck and mire to douse them. 

Having it partially contained he turns and finds the hose hung up right where it should be. Thank goodness. _Everything in its place_ pays off at times like this. A quick twist of it onto the tap and he’s spraying water down on the bits and pieces that might flare back up. He’ll lose much of his hay to this, but not the barn. Not the animals. He might still lose some to the stress and smoke, but not to fire itself. 

He stares at the hay, watering it all the way down and begins to cough from the combination of exertion and smoke. He hadn’t had time to register the smoke in his rush to put out the flames. He can’t stop now that he’s started. Great wracking coughs to try and clear his lungs mixed with sobs as the panic overwhelms him and he realizes what’s happened. He turns the hose sideways and takes great mouthfuls of water from it, spitting them out with every cough, getting the taste of smoke off his tongue. He dunks his whole face into the icy stream, water flowing behind his glasses and making them slide down his nose. The iciness brings clarity. _The man._

Is he dead? He hopes so. The wish feels strangely _right_ and that prospect that he is brings him a sense of calm. He turns towards the dooryard to see where the man is. 

He is gone. The bloody fork lays in the mud. The ground has gone a strange color from all the blood. He steps outside and does not see the man. He can feel the bloody muck seeping through his socks. The mud had probably helped keep him from burning. Now it just feels like he has a strange new skin where it clings to his socks. He should put on boots.Then he can hunt this man down. Finish the job. The man is probably bleeding to death now. He should finish him. It feels _right_. 

He hears a human noise from somewhere in the field and an angry squeal. The human voice reaches a new pitch. There’s an angry grunt from the pig. Never get into a field alone with an unrestrained boar. He feels…. disappointment that he won’t finish him himself. It feels _wrong_ to leave it incomplete. 

There’s a clatter of stones and the roar of an engine and lights flash. He’s made it to a vehicle. 

He’d run the man through with a pitchfork but missed the important arteries in the groin. He should be glad he hasn’t killed someone. He feels a mounting anger. 

He’d tried to burn down his barn! Had he even realized he had animals in there? He’d clearly come when he thought Anthony wasn’t here. Wouldn’t be caught. He hadn’t smelled gas. So he probably had been trying to make it look natural. An accident. He’d had several of late. Things click together in his head. 

Their lawyers are fighting. His lawyer isn’t as expensive or fancy, but is tenacious. He understood what it is to be outside what society considered the norm. He will accept endless payments in rabbit meat to fight with the Palmers. 

_The rabbits!_ Chasing the man would have to wait. 

He strips his socks off. His feet are bloody, but intact. It isn’t his blood. He puts on the muck boots he left in the barn and goes to check on the rabbits. The ones he had in individuals cages are wide eyed and trying to bolt in terror from the smell. Several have bloodied their feet trying to dig through the cages to escape. 

He grabs the travel crates and stuffs rabbits into them. He stacks them on the little garden cart and wheels them off to the house. Up the steps and into the house, then just dumps them loose in the kitchen. Some sit there in shock. Some bolt into the house. They are away from the smoke. That’s all that matters. He’ll care for them later. 

He goes back and opens up the outdoor gate from the rabbit pit into the yard. There’s rabbits bounding past him. Over his feet. Though his legs. Colliding with his shins in panic, trying to get out out out and away from the smell of smoke in the barn. There’s too many rabbits. Far more rabbits than he owns. Just running and running and running. 

\---- 

And then there is a rabbit running across a field, wildly twisting to try to stay out of the jaws of a skinny looking fox. The rabbit doesn’t see the other fox waiting for it. It doesn’t even scream as it’s taken. The foxes pay him no mind where he sits in the hedgerow. He’s set his own trap. 

This is not a crime of passion. Or an accident. Or even a thing done in anger. Oh, he feels _something_ towards Gabriel. Disgust mostly. He is not easily disgusted. He lives with blood and shit everyday. That is just how living is. He is part of the earth. The foxes know it. He is meant to be here. 

Gabriel is unearthly. Too clean. Too perfect. Too composed. His teeth too white. His facial expressions too calculated. Too _everything_. And yet there is nothing there underneath. A beautiful shining shell of extremes over an endless void of nothingness. He doesn’t belong here. Anthony suspects none of that family do. But Gabriel, Gabriel he is sure. And he is going to kill him. 

He longs for that sense of _rightness_ that he’d felt when he stabbed the arsonist. When he kills an animal he’s raised for meat. But it is also the rightness he feels picking up a weak rabbit kit and bottle feeding it, the little feet battering at his hands in eagerness. Or the rightness in scrubbing off the sweat of a long day, feeling the heat of a shower relaxing away any pain while still leaving that slight burn that reminds him of what he’s done all day. There is a rightness to Gabriel leaving this Earth. He isn’t as sure how he feels about being the one to do it. He just knows it _needs_ to happen. 

And so his plans had brought him here. Waiting for that right moment. Can feel it building now, that sense of rushing towards something inevitable. He isn’t sure he can stop now. Gabriel will be gone soon. And the world will be better for it. 

Yes, there is a personal aspect to it as well. Gabriel is a constant irritant. Between the lawyers, the accidents, and all the things he’s said about his Da, it gets under his skin so it feels strange and wrong as if it isn’t _his_. As if some part of him is struggling to break free from the person he is now. The fire was no accident. None of the ‘accidents’ were. He’d learned his lesson with the court order. He won’t lay another hand on Gabriel. A knife however… 

As much as the Palmers know his comings and goings, they don’t actually see _him_. Being unseen has come back to him. That ability to just be invisible. To be nothing. The boy with no name. No history. No home to run to, only away from. But now he isn’t the hunted, he is the hunter. The rhythm is similar, but this time he sets the pace. 

Gabriel is a creature of habit. He needs to be seen, to be admired. He goes between all the right places. He poses just so. And then he vanishes in between so no one ever sees his true self. Anthony sees him. Sees the emptiness in those places where no one is there to see him. Sometimes Gabriel seems to realise there are eyes on him that hold no admiration. That they see only the emptiness. It makes him hurry back to others that much faster. 

This means catching Gabriel truly alone is difficult. He’s stalked him for nearly a year as he put together his plan. Find that place Gabriel is truly alone and he will crack open that shell and let that _nothing_ out. 

And here he is sitting in a hedgerow in the drizzle next to an old roman road. It is a cutover between two modern roads. Local people walk or bike along this ancient way sometimes. Almost two thousand years have worn away the stones. Even stones can grow old. They are broken along the edges with grass growing up between them. Ancient and usable but vulnerable in this modern world. The gate is never locked. It’s a public way. The gate is to keep the sheep in and the cars out. But not Gabriel’s. 

It is a rare point Gabriel steps out of his vehicle and unhitches the gate to cut over and shave thirty minutes off his comings and goings from the hunt club. The sign forbidding cars and tractors does not apply to _him_. His time is more valuable than old stones. 

The road sits between two vast hedgerows. They almost make a tunnel. It is just wide enough for a vehicle. What will Gabriel do if he encounters an obstacle? There is nowhere to go. There is no way to turn around. 

That it was raining seems fitting. He had padlocked the gate on one side, just in case Gabriel gets away from him. It will make him abandon the car. He had tossed his bicycle into the middle of the way as if Gabriel had struck someone unseen. It lies exactly at the point where you can not see something there from either gate. He and Gabriel will be entirely hidden from view. 

He sits tucked into the hedge, listening to the patter of rain on the heavy hood of his long coat. He’s rubbed it well with wax to make it waterproof. He can sit for hours before he gets wet. He probably should be nervous about this. He could still walk away. Do none of this. The bicycle and locked gate will be a mere curiosity. The drip, drip, drip of rain is soothing, quieting. That _rightness_ fills him. 

It will end at least some of what was going on. It will be a personal relief to him. He flexes his feet in the leather boots, feeling the wool socks there. The mud and blood stains never came entirely out. Gabriel isn’t willing to do his own work. He is. And that will be the end of Gabriel 

He hears the sound of a too big, too loud engine and the pause at the far gate as Gabriel steps out to open the gate. The car is moving. The gate is closing. He hears the sound of the car along the old road, the splash of tires through puddles. The crunch of ancient stone being broken down by something too heavy for them. The sudden stop of the vehicle just where he planned. He sees the headlights through the hedge. The sound of the door opening and Gabriel’s voice, asking who left this here. How _dare_ they inconvenience him. 

He slides through a hole in the hedge he’d made by twisting the branches out of the way. He pulls the knife out of the sheath as he comes. Gabriel has his back to him, clearly spotlighted by the headlights. He comes forward quickly, counting on the sound of the engine to cover his movement. 

A slash across the back of the knees and he shoves a hand into the small of Gabriel’s back, ensuring he falls forward as his legs buckle. He tries to catch himself as he falls but his hands slip on the old stones. He crashes down onto ruined knees, his arms splayed out to either side. Anthony doesn’t give him a chance to rise. He rakes the knife along the inside of Gabriel’s thigh, easily going through the thin and stylish fabric. There’s blood on Anthony’s hands now as it pumps out of the severed artery. 

Gabriel starts screaming now that he can get a breath in. He tries to crawl away. Anthony strikes at him again raking the knife along the inside of the other leg. This is _messy_. He feels like he’s doing this wrong. It should be faster. Cleaner. Why isn’t Gabriel _breaking_? 

He pushes as deep as he can, grinding the blade against bone. He pulls upward, feeling some kind of tension against it and Gabriel loses use of that leg. He’s hit a nerve or tendon. 

Gabriel collapses sideways and rolls over. He twists his body around to look at him. Gabriel is squinting at him but can’t see his face between the hood and being backlit. 

“Why are you doing this!?!” He considers throwing back his hood. Letting Gabriel see who is killing him. 

But no. Gabriel is used to getting what he wants. He says nothing. He gets no closure. No answer. No realization of who this is or why this is happening. 

“Answer me!” Gabriel is trying to push himself up again. His face twists in anger. This cannot be happening and if he just demands it isn’t, then it won’t. He believes this is true. 

There’s a growing puddle under Gabriel. He is bleeding out too fast for the rain to dilute it. Yet still he thinks he will live through this. 

Gabriel’s body looks _wrong_. This isn’t going how he wants. He needs to do _more_. He doesn’t know what. Gabriel is done for. Just make it faster? 

No. His face. Gabriel has always wanted to be seen. Admired. It is what holds his vision of himself together. Anthony knows now. Gabriel is struggling to rise and yet freezes as he sees something shift in his posture. He stops trying to rise and rolls over, trying to crawl away. This is more effective. 

Anthony comes after him. Gabriel lashes out at his leg as it comes into view and tries to pull him over. He pivots from where his leg is held, spinning around to be in front of Gabriel and slashes across his forehead instead, blood covering his eyes. Gabriel shrieks, as if this pain is much worse than that of his ruined legs. He pulls on Anthony’s leg and he can feel himself going down. He knows how to fall and lets himself. 

He can see Gabriel’s wild eyes and bloodied face. It’s both blotchy with anger and pale in places as he’s losing blood so fast. He presses the knife into Gabriel’s face, across his lip and hits it across the dull back with the butt of his hand, driving the edge down to the bone. Gabriel now has a grotesque second set of lips where he’s severed it down to the gum line, but the curve of his face prevented the corners from coming free. Gabriel tries to rear back from him, face contorted as he howls. It stretches his neck up and away from him, baring his throat. This, this is familiar. This is _right_. 

He strikes across the trachea and again uses the butt of his hand to push the knife deeper. Now it’s stuck in cartilage and grows slippery from the gush of blood where he’s hit the jugular. He’s not sure he can pull the knife out again for another strike. But it doesn’t matter as Gabriel’s movements have no strength or purpose to them now. His weight collapses onto him and he rolls them over so he’s on top. He twists the knife back and forth to get it unstuck and there’s a great gush of blood. He is grateful for his rain gear as the blood slides off him without staining. 

Still those eyes are staring at him, asking, seeking, demanding an explanation. He drives the tip of the blade into one and then the other. Gabriel will not get the satisfaction of an answer. He feels some last bit of tension go out of Gabriel beneath him. 

He stands up and backs away. He lets the rain wash over him. He feels it pattering on his head and shoulders through the heavy coat, yet now does not hear it striking him anymore. It is still clear far away, but it is strangely muffled by him, as if something is in the way. 

And there in the light from the car he sees something move and there is someone _there_. He tightens his grip on the knife, readying himself for a fight and then recognises how pale and insubstantial and strange the person is. 

It is person-shaped only so much as they have the right arrangement of limbs. The texture of them looks wrong as if they can’t decide on clothes or skin. They glow with their own inner light that blocks some of the beam of the headlights but without actually being illuminated by them. That inner light is a fire without warmth, the foxfire glow that is sometimes seen out in the fields at night. It is the sort of light that sensible people say is from mushrooms or swamp gas and less sensible people say comes from space ships or witch’s sabbaths. Those that live and die here for generations simply say it shouldn’t be given a name lest you invite it into your life. 

The figure stands over the body where Anthony had been moments ago. The blood on the ground slowly oozes out of the way, as if it is being displaced by the figure’s feet. If they are feet. There is an impression of some kind of facial features, but jumbled and shifting, too many faces and none at all. 

It looks at Gabriel and Anthony can feel the weight of that gaze, even without it having made a face. It has eyes. Must do. How else can it see? 

It stoops and there is a brighter flare of light. This one hot and burning and it resolves into a blade. There is a sound he feels without hearring, a deep and visceral noise that vibrates his bones and the figure is cutting into Gabriel. Sure, precise strokes with a purpose to every movement. The blade flickers away and then its familiar hands are on Gabriel, peeling back clothes, then skin, then muscle, and bone, each with another sound felt without being heard. 

Features briefly resolve enough for clear blue eyes to be visible, eyebrows pulled together. Those soft, strong hands now move with less purpose and more randomly, as if trying to pick up something slippery. 

“You can’t stay.” It isn’t a command. It is a statement of truth. There was no sense arguing or struggling. This is the truth presented to accept or deny. 

And _deny_ is clearly the choice Gabriel makes as something slithers out of the corpse. It is similarly recognizable as a person only because it stands upright on two limbs. But vast sections are just _missing_ , unconnected to the form of the body. They aren’t where Anthony slashed at him. These are pieces clearly long gone or never formed at all. The face is a ruin, unrecognizable, a wild jumble of shifting features around empty, bleeding sockets. It is as if it is trying to decide what face to wear. But with the eyes gone, there is no way for it to see others reaction, to adjust anymore and it is becoming less and less human looking with every shift. The mouth is moving as if it is saying something but there is no sound. The mouth starts to slide down the neck, opening and closing as it goes. The lips gape wider and wider each time it opens until they are gone, leaving the gnashing teeth bare. White and perfect as they open between Gabriel’s ribs.. The head seems to drain into the bloody eye sockets as if it’s being pulled inward. Then the entire head collapses downward, looking increasingly less recognizable as a person even as the other one looks more recognizably so. 

“You can’t do anything to him. You need to go.” This is much closer to a command. Soon the politeness will end and there will be no more requests. It gestures with a hand. A ring glints on it. 

The thing that was once Gabriel seems to become aware then that Anthony is still here and lurches towards him. Anthony flinches at being swung at. He instinctively closes his eyes as it swings wildly at his face, but he feels nothing. There is only the _rightness_ of what he had done. 

“This is a mess.” That just sounds… tetchy. And very human. 

“Sorry.” 

“You should be, you murdered him.” He can see a faint movement of a mouth frowning. 

“Not for the murder. For the mess.” He _is_ about that part. He tried to make contingency plans, but this, whatever _this_ is, is not something he ever anticipated. 

“Excuse me?” The voice has climbed at least an octave. 

“Sorry about the mess. Didn’t mean to make things difficult for you.” 

“This IS a mess! You… I’m not talking to you!” It starts to turn away, but what was once Gabriel flaps around Anthony, furious and impotent. The other figure can’t _not_ look at him. 

“You need to go.” 

“Which of us is that for?” 

“I’m not talking to you!” 

“Just did.” 

“You infuriating… both of you then!” What is left of Gabriel seems equally unwilling to listen and unable to do anything to Anthony. It flings itself at the other figure. 

“None of that!” The voice loses its waver and uncertainty as its shape ripples. It looks less like a person now. That is the wrong number of limbs. 

“You… with the glasses, you really go. Or look away.” It sounds like two voices on top of each other, one completely unconcerned by what is going on and one that is tight with worry. 

“I did this. I should see.” 

“You shouldn’t see any of this.” The voice cracked in two so there was only the more anxious, human sounding one. “You shouldn’t see _me_. I might… don’t look.” 

“I won’t then.” He turns away, his back to whatever is happening. He sees brief interruptions in the light from the headlights. He feels several more things that he is sure are noises outside his hearing range, rubbing along the inside of his ribs like fingers on wet glass. He feels nauseous after each one. The rain is interrupted several times, falling unevenly, like something is passing over him. 

He stares at Gabriel’s body on the stones. He feels nothing towards it but satisfaction. A _rightness._ He feels as if he has found some dreadful _purpose_ to his life. Still...he probably could have done a tidier job, not made a mess for whatever this is. Whoever this is. 

A stillness washes over him. He feels the rain on him still but hears nothing around him again. All the outside noises are gone. Something is looming behind him, over him, impossibly large and terrible. It will come crashing down on him if he looks. 

“What should I call you?” 

“Do not call me.” The voice is around him, in him. He feels weak and small. This is something too big and terrible to fight or run from. It is a familiar feeling. He’d eventually escape it with time. With talking. 

“I’m not asking to _call_ you, I’m asking what you want to be called” 

“Oh.” It sounds ever so slightly smaller, as if it is withdrawing into itself. 

“Do you have a name?” 

“None you can speak.” 

“One I can write?” 

“Perhaps. But I think not. That is not for you.” 

“I want to call you _something_.” 

“Why?” 

“S’important. To have a word for things. For _people_.” 

“I am not… I can not tell you.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

There was a long pause. “Both.” 

“What do you want to be called? Even if you can’t tell me. He? She? They? It? That seems really rude, but I’ll call you _it_ if you really want.” 

“Do you think you can trick me? Bargain with me?” There was that sense of looming again. “Maybe outwit me at a game of chess?” 

“I’ve never played chess, so you’d have to teach me first. And I’m not bargaining. I have nothing to give you. I’m just… does anyone talk to you?” 

“Well of course!” 

“Not to bargain or plead or argue. Just talk to you?” 

“What do you _want_?” It is back to sounding almost human. 

“I want my question answered.” 

“You infuriating…” And tetchy. 

“Why are you still talking to me?” 

“I… don’t know.” 

“Can I turn around?” 

“NO.” He feels that slide along his teeth, as if it had come out of his own mouth. His tongue feels strange. 

“Do you have to stay here?” 

“Why?” 

“I can keep not looking at you and talking, but I’d also like to move. I would prefer not to be found standing over a dead man.” 

“You _are_ bargaining.” 

“Not really. Thinking out loud is more like. I thought all this out ahead of time. Except for you. I don’t want to turn around but I do want to turn the car off. Can I… back up? Or can you move or something?” 

“This is… ridiculous. Aren’t you going to take the car?” 

“Oh gosh no. It should be days before anyone finds this. I intend to be long gone.” 

“You will get caught.” 

“I’m sure the police will come talk to me. I assaulted him before. I got off with a warning because he had provoked it, but I _will_ get questioned. I’m prepared for that. Just wasn’t prepared for you. But now seeing you…. I guess I should have factored you in. I’ve seen you before. Your hands at least. I thought I dreamed that you came for Da. Thanks.” 

“ _Thanks_?” There’s a hitch in the voice, sounding both surprised and somehow… afraid. 

“He was ready to go. He just held on that long because of _that_.” He points at the body. 

“Ah. That… doesn’t answer much.” 

“I could keep talking. If you’ll let me turn off the car.” 

“Do not look. I need… time.” It sounds almost human. That strange wavering tone he can feel rather than hear is almost gone. 

“I’ll take my glasses off. I can’t see much more than blurs without them. So just don’t let me walk into you and I’ll turn the car off.” 

“Why?” 

“Makes noise. Has lights. It’ll attract attention. Scare off the animals that live here.” 

“Very well.” The sense of _something_ being close to him recedes. 

He takes his glasses off and goes towards the car, a big blur of light and angles. He finds the door and runs a hand along it to reach in and find the steering wheel. He gropes around it until he finds the key and kills the engine. A little more groping and he flicks the lights off. This has taken almost an hour and the sun is almost down. The glow of whatever he has been talking to is more obvious. 

He spent years without glasses in near darkness.This is easy to move in. He walks along the road towards the gate Gabriel came in. He heara the rain stop and start and see the faint glow behind him flicker. He is being followed. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m going to lock the other gate. It’ll add a few days to how long it takes someone to find the body. They’ll think the gate is just locked for a few days for something like repairs or hedgecutting or sheep.” 

“Sheep?” 

“It’s been locked before when he” a quick gesture with his hand over his shoulder “left the gate open and the sheep got loose. A reminder to always close the gate.” 

“You put a lot of thought into this.” 

“I did.” He finds the chain and padlock. The owner of the farm will have to cut these off or call a locksmith. It will buy time for Gabriel to lie there and rot, unseen. Become totally unrecognizable.Too hideous to look upon. 

“I’m going to come back to get my bicycle to go home. Can I turn around? My glasses are still off.” 

“That is...acceptable.” 

He can see the blur of a figure. It is back to human size and shape and the voice is much softer. The glow has been tucked away somewhere. He comes back towards it, detouring around so he doesn’t walk into it. 

“Really, what should I call you? You’re more person shaped. That’s all I can tell.” 

“You cannot apply normal human concepts to _me_.” There’s a slight sniff. Clearly it, he, Anthony is pretty certain this is a _he_ , feels he is above all that. 

“Well no one else talks to you, so I guess it’ll be clear I’m talking to you.” 

“Why can you talk to me?” 

“This is new. You tell me.” 

“You’re bargaining again.” 

“I’m just a pile of questions on top of questions.” He walks carefully, just seeing the vague shape of the car. He knows the body and the blood is just beyond it. “Can I put on my glasses?” 

“Very well. But do not look at me directly.” 

“Obviously.” He puts on his glasses and avoids the blood to retrieve his bicycle. The man shaped entity stays where he can only see him out of his poor peripheral vision. He’s got clothes now. He’s terribly tempted to look at him directly since he looks like he’s wandered out of some Victorian storybook. That can’t be right. He focuses on unlocking and relocking the gate to avoid looking directly. 

“I don’t think you can ride on the bicycle with me, so I’ll just walk it.” 

“Why?” 

“Said I would talk with you. And I will.” 

“And what if I follow you home?” There is a caution there, but also something else. 

“You’ve _been_ in my home. I don’t think I can get away from you.” 

“I am everywhere and nowhere.” It is true. It is said with the same _rightness_ he felt earlier. And he wants _more_. 

“Come home with me then. Stay and talk.” 

“Are you… _inviting me in_?” They are nowhere near a building to go into. They are just reaching the first crossroad on a very long walk home. He is clearly asking something Anthony doesn’t quite grasp the meaning of, but can tell it is something huge and life changing. 

“I don’t know what that means. What does it matter if you’re everywhere and nowhere if I ask you to be _somewhere*_?” 

“Ę̵̨̪̮̩͓̩͇̫̟̭̱̪͙̭̥̈̎̀͌̈̓͐̾͒͝V̶̨̢̢̫̻͇̹̟̹̟͙̯̜̞̖̯͇̅̌̌̌̋̍̿̈͆̑̄Ȩ̸̨͙̰̝̖͔͎̼̦̩̘͓̓̃͆̔͘͘R̴̛̛̥̯̳͎͇͎̺̪̙̫̖̾̉̃͗̏̇͛͒͝Y̵̢͔̬̗͓̫̥̭̔̽͌̑͂̆Ț̵̛̳̞̹͈̂̒̿͒͆̋̉̚H̷̢̢̛͙̜͔̭̼̭̪̳̠̥̘̥̤̦̫̒̇̾̐̈́̔̿̓̿̏̐̍̆Í̴̧̛͚̮̬̻̻͇͚̠̦̯̣̟͓̞̘͛̽Ņ̷̧͙̗̙͍̏̂G̸̣̪̣̬͓̙̞̯̰̭̼̲͎̍̌̋̐̌͗̀͌͘͜͝” 

.

He does not remember how he gets home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter. back to the present! They have some very important discussions about caretaking and what that means. How can you render comfort to someone you can't TOUCH without hurting? How can you take care of your mental health when you've never considered you have _health_ at all?
> 
> Probably the saddest chapter.


	4. In sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony heeds the warning and goes to the doctor and runs into an old friend and an old enemy.
> 
> The most unbelievable part of his AU happens: THEY TALK ABOUT FEELINGS LIKE ADULTS.
> 
> They discuss Fell's feelings of helpless at Anthony's injury and his inability to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Mental health discussed  
> Anthony's past abuse as a child is discussed  
> Anthony's discusses whether he feels his abuse made him a serial killer (no, but it didn't help)  
> a human body is fed to animals  
> past medical trauma is discussed during a doctor's visit. The doctor makes adjustments to treatment based on not causing more trauma.  
> End of life care discussed  
> mental strain on the caretaker of someone who is dying is discussed  
> Feelings of helpless in the face of illness/injury  
> Past murders discussed

He sleeps late. His leg still aches, but it’s no worse than it's been recently by the evening. But he’s just getting up. He runs his hand over the scar on his leg. It does look red and feels stiff and hard under his hand. It doesn’t feel any hotter than the rest of him, but he’d been under a blanket for… a long time. 

He glances at the phone and sees the audiobook has run out. Fell can entertain himself, but he still feels bad. At least he’d turned the page on all the open books in the house right before the man had showed up for a rabbit. He flips the one in the bedroom now. It probably won’t matter today since Fell is here, but it's a familiar daily ritual. 

He shrugs into a heavy bathrobe, unwilling to get dressed until he has to. He will call the doctor and see if she can fit him in or if he will have to go to emergency care. He might need to. He’s not obviously bleeding but for Fell to struggle around not being able to tell him something, to tell him to go to the doctor… He’ll listen. He’s stubborn, not stupid. 

He hates going to emergency care. They aren’t unkind, but they’re unpleasantly curious is a way that makes him feel like he’s not actually a person. They don’t see him, just a medical puzzle. He has the same conversation every time. They’ve been like this for forty years, I’m not here about my eyes, please, please look at the reason I _am_ here. Sometimes they called in other doctors to look at him and he’d end up with a parade of them through the exam room. Not to actually improve his care, just to see something they’d only ever read about in books. He didn’t like being the example. It was exhausting. 

He rings up the office. There’s been a cancellation so he can get squeezed into the afternoon. It is an immense relief. It will be harder to lie to them about what happened, but they’ll want to look at his leg, not stare at his eyes. 

He considered going to look for Fell like he usually did, but multiple trips up and down the stairs seemed ill advised. He flipped through the phone and pulled up “Pale Blue Eyes” and set it to play on the speakers downstairs. 

Fell was in the doorway a minute or so later as if he’d actually come up the stairs. He’d done that more and more as the years had passed. Moved around the house like he was a human. Anthony left the doors open whenever he could so Fell could do that. Not that he couldn’t walk right through doors, but he liked having the illusion Fell was really _here_ and actually used them. Anthony wasn’t sure what he did when he could neither see nor hear him, but maybe he still behaved the same way. It made the house a bit drafty in winter, but it just meant he put on more layers. 

“How do you feel this morning?” Fell was carefully staying in the doorway. 

“Barely morning anymore. I needed the rest. But I need to get up and deal with the animals and go to the doctor. Already called. They have an opening.” 

“Yes. Well. That’s good.” He was fretting slightly. This wasn’t something they’d done before. Neither was sure of the routine. What the right things to say were. It reminded him of the early years when so many of their conversations were like this. Unfamiliar and faintly terrifying. 

“You don’t have to go with. But you can if you want.” 

“Am I supposed to go in? I don’t think… It will be like when we go out places. But the doctor needs to see you…” He’s trying to sort through an unfamiliar social situation. He’s seen it on the telly. Anthony doesn’t much care for doctor shows though. 

“I understand. You’re right. I couldn’t talk to you with the doctor there anyway. You can ride with me in the car if you want.” 

“Is that enough?” 

“I cherish every minute I get with you.” It’s true. He’d not usually quite so direct about his feelings and Fell is clearly a little flustered by it. They have a lot of things that need to get done today, and a little planning will go a long way. “I should probably plan on sleeping downstairs for a few days at least, just to take it easy. Thought I was done with that couch…” 

“You’ve said it's comfy.” Fell often sits with him on it, a pillow carefully between them so they don’t accidentally touch. Don’t _purposefully_ touch. They’re long past trying. It has always ended badly. 

“Not as comfy as the bed. Should probably bring clothes downstairs too.” He made a frustrated noise at that. He’d had a miserable time healing from the wound the first time. He thought he could move on. 

“I need to get rid of the body too. Sooner the better. I’m not sure I’m up to driving around. It’s a risk, but could do it in the back field. You’re here… if you’ll walk with me…” Turn away eyes just by your presence. 

“Of course. It’s about all I _can_ do.” 

“Just being here is a lot. _Talking_ is a lot”. Warning him. He didn’t understand why he had. 

“I wish… I want… more. There has to be something I can do for you.” Fell’s fists were balled up and his hands looked anything but soft right now. 

“You’re always more sensitive to being watched. Shadwell may be completely off base, but it certainly seems like he was talking about someone specific is snooping around looking for something. Can you warn me of that while you can?” 

“Yes. I can do that. I can do _something_. No one was watching yesterday either.” 

“Good. I’ve got a lot of things I need to get done before appointment, so I better get dressed and make us some breakfast.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account. You should rest as much as you can.” 

“I still need to feed me, so it's no more trouble. I am just not sure I can actually get it dark in the kitchen. I can just take my glasses off and keep my eyes shut.” 

“You take such good care of me and I can do so little for you. It’s not right.” His brows are drawn together and there's a rare bit of anger there. He knows that feeling well. They’ll need to talk about that later. 

“We’re not keeping score. I’m happy with what you _can_ do. Just talk with me while I work, that’s all I want.” He _needs_ more right now, but he needs things Fell can’t give him, no matter how much he might want to. 

He got dressed in loose trousers and a short sleeve button up. It’s easy to get on, and will be easy to take off for doctor. He gathered up several days of clothes and blankets and tossed them down the stairs in a few pillowcases so he won’t have to use the stairs.. He scooted down the stairs on his bum, but it kept the ache from building 

They spent breakfast discussing what books and music they might like to listen to for however long this period was going to be. It is almost normal. Anthony kept his eyes firmly shut, even as Fell’s voice distorted while he ate. He wished he could watch him eat at times like this when his voice slipped. It wasn’t a slip of distress or anger, but one of pleasure. What did his face look like when he ate? 

He hadn’t planned things ahead, so it was a very simple breakfast by their usual standards of eating together. Fell seemed equally delighted by eating exactly the sort of thing Anthony made himself when he wasn’t cooking for Fell. Oatmeal had never been more exciting. 

Anthony preferred to listen to books as his eyes got tired easily. The print books were really for Fell. He left them open in the house for Fell, flipping a page at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That was just enough reading to not tire his eyes. Sometimes he got drawn into them that way, just to have one more thing to talk about with Fell next time. That that talk might never come now was something they were avoiding. They are making plans anyway as if everything will be normal in their own extremely abnormal life. 

He took the cane and tended to the animals. He doubles up feed so if he doesn’t get to them in the evening because he is exhausted, they won’t suffer. He was glad he’d installed an automatic watering system years ago, when he added sprinklers. He checked to make sure everything was clean every day, but other than that, the water required no maintenance. 

They kept up steady conversation as he went about tasks. Talked about the books he’d left for Fell. The ones they’d listened to together. They couldn’t afford much silence. Especially now. Anthony checked his phone. He had enough time to hopefully set things up for later. He almost never disposed of bodies here. Too risky. But years of ritual had made it possible to do so if he needed to. And now he needed to, 

He went through the meat locker and pulled out the bag of heads. Occasionally he had special requests for whole heads, but most people didn’t want animals looking at them. That was where a lot of folks drew the line, so he always had spare heads. Whenever he ended up making rabbit for them both, Fell got the head like a bony garnish. It was eaten just as happily as the rest, but with considerably louder noises. 

But he always ended up ahead (ha) on heads, which served a very useful purpose for him. He took them out of the freezer to sit and found the heavy hand sledge and a chisel. He could sit on his work stool and do this. The little rabbits would be fine, the pig head was too much. He took the chisel and the sledge to the head, breaking the jaw free and them driving holes in the palette. All the bits got tossed in the bucket he kept for this. Usually it would get loaded into the Bentley and he’d drive somewhere more remote to lay his bait. 

Today it went in the little garden cart and got pushed towards the currently empty field he’d just taken the pigs out of. The going was rough from all the rooting around. Fell lagged a bit behind him, seemingly on high alert. Something about the way he held his hand seemed like he might pull that burning blade out if needed. Anthony had never felt safer. 

He got over to the edge of the field where there was a stand of chestnuts behind a rubble wall to keep the pigs from digging up the seedlings. They’d be dropping nuts soon and he’d move the pigs back to here to finish them off. Get a premium price that way. He’d get the chestnuts behind the wall for himself or to sell. They were one of Fell’s favorites. He swallowed hard at realizing that might not happen this year. He’d just have to store them for the spring. 

Mum had planted the chestnuts when they’d first moved here. They weren’t big enough to yield nuts when he died. They’d first dropped nuts when Da had started to get sick. It was a reminder of hopeful times once shared and now forever out of reach. Now the trees were at peak production. A gift every year from someone who’d never gotten to enjoy them. They’d outlive Anthony. Fell would outlive them but might never taste them again. 

“You’ve gone very quiet.” 

“Just thinking, is all. Probably close enough.” 

He pulled the bucket out of the garden cart and then banged his hand on the metal side of the cart, so it made a metallic boom. Usually he did this on the roof of the Bentley. This was much sharper sounding. 

“Heigh ho!” He went through a cycle of banging and yelling. He looked like an idiot, sounded even dumber. He paused after about 30 seconds to listen. He heard a croaking rasp from far away. He banged on the cart again. 

“Heigh ho!” and then there was the sound of wings and four ravens settled into the trees above him. The two residents and two slightly smaller ones from this year’s brood. The two large ones were much more excited. He’d never fed them here before, but they’d probably been with a group he had fed previously, to have come when called. 

This wasn’t exactly how it usually went, but they knew his face. They knew what probably should happen. He could see a flutter further back in the stand as some carrion crows got close enough to investigate but weren’t going to chance being chased by the ravens. 

He tossed the heads into the wood. The smaller rabbit heads were grabbed immediately and the birds were back up into the trees with them. They made familiar rasping noises that he associated with them being contented. 

He tossed the big boar skull out and the smaller crows zoomed in on it. He’d made enough holes in it that they could start to get into it, but it was frozen so it would have to be done slowly. 

They started up with the loud excited calling that would soon enough to bring in other flockmates and free floating juveniles to see what carcass they’d found. Even though it would probably be picked clean by the evening, they _knew_ him. They knew how this ritual went. He’d be back at dusk and there’d be more. They just had to wait. 

Tonight he’d be back with the dead man, flensed and bones broken down to pieces that a raven could fly off with or a fox or badger could drag off. The corpse would be gone within a day, scattered back into the earth. 

* * *

* * *

Fell had agreed to ride with him to the doctor, but seemed even more anxious than yesterday. 

“This is my fault.” 

“How is this your fault?” 

“I shouldn’t be… “ There was a pause as he seemed to struggle to say anything at all. His face contorted but no sound came out, as if he’d hit that wall of things he was incapable of saying. His shoulders slumped as he stopped struggling. “with you.” 

“You did anyway. What’s done is done.” He shrugged while getting the car in motion. It wasn’t a long drive, but it seemed like it would be an exhausting one. 

“If you’d never met me…” 

“I’d still have killed Gabriel.. That was personal.” 

“But beyond that…” He could see the flicker of Fell’s hands already, as he worked himself up over something he couldn’t quite figure out how to express. 

“I killed Sandy for similar reasons. But that brought you back to me. Made me sure it wasn’t all some wild hallucination. But the other Palmers, that was entirely personal. I wanted an end to that bloodline. I know you felt… something about those. They were different from the rest. But if this is about the injury, I would have got to Michael eventually anyway. They made their choices. I made mine. That was personal. None of those are on you.” 

“Just the rest of them… I made you…” There was a brief flicker to form and it was like there was a stranger in his car, before resolving back into his usual shape. 

“No. Seeing you. Inviting you home… that definitely changed the course of my life. But you didn’t force me. I was made by an entire life. But I still chose what I did. If anyone is to _blame_ , it's the ones that made me physically.” 

“Your parents?” 

“No. Well. They did a bit too. Everyone I ever interacted with had a part to play in what choices I made, good or bad. But the ones that made me physically exist, they don’t deserve to be called my parents, they’re the ones that brought me into this world and then did everything possible to destroy me except actually _acting_. But even they didn’t _make_ me. 

“All the things in my life, all the choices I made, those made me. Don’t you _dare_ claim you made me like this. Everytime I kill someone, I am the one making that choice. Not you. _Me_. I might have reasons for it. Sometimes the reasons include that I miss you and want to see you. But that’s ultimately on me. It’s not anyone else’s fault. No one made me. I _made_ me for good or ill.” 

“And if I hadn’t spoken with you… kept speaking with you… I shouldn’t have stayed…” 

“If you’re going to try and claim blame for making me like I am, I made _you_ just as much.” 

“ _What?_ ” There was a sudden brightness next to him and he wasn’t sure Fell was going to stay in the car. But he was probably going to flee no matter what Anthony said next, so he might as well say the truth. 

“If you get to say you made me, I made you then. Who talks to you? Who plays music for you? Who turns a page in a book each day for you? Who feeds you? Who watches telly with you? Who _lives_ with you? Who would you be now if you didn’t have those?” 

“Different. I shouldn’t want any of those.” He’d gone very still next to him. No fidgeting at all. But he was still _here_. 

“But you _do_ want things. I don’t know if you knew… you could want. I did… make you like this. I hope it's been… better than the alternative?” 

“Better than the alternative? What do you think the alternative _is_?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe you were… happy? Before. When you were everywhere. But you stayed with me. More and more. I think you wanted to be somewhere. Now that you had somewhere to be.” 

“You did talk to me. Do talk to me. Even when I can’t respond back. We’re so… we’ve so rarely talked like _this_ … I don’t know… what do I _say_?” 

“Whatever you feel like. This isn’t a conversation even humans would have with each other. There’s not really a right way to have this conversation. Just our way. I know you can’t always be direct about things. I’m not sure sometimes if you don’t know the words, really are prevented from saying them, or don’t know how to identify what you’re feeling.” 

“Not really supposed to. I’m… You feel something for me.” 

“I do. And I don’t regret meeting you. I might still have felt that purpose calling to me. I would have killed Gabriel regardless but I wouldn’t have understood what was happening. The Palmers were fundamentally different than the other kills I made, because they were personal. And I think those would have happened without you there. But meeting you gives their death a purpose it wouldn’t have had. I get to see you. Talk to you.” 

“You still killed them. And that brought you to me.” There was no judgement there. It was just s statement. 

“Because of choices they made, I made, the circumstances. All those brought me to you. Things could have gone differently before then, before it ended in death. But it didn’t. It’s like the rabbit. I would have killed that rabbit for that guy anyway. He would have given me money for it. He probably wouldn’t have eaten it. He just wanted to see it die. He wanted to see it _suffer_. Someone else might have given him that. Or he might have gone on to seek that out himself, do that himself. Now he’s gone. Instead, we ate the rabbit together. It had purpose.I killed him. I get to see you. He had purpose.” 

“And if you didn’t see me…” 

“I would still kill. I feel… right. I have _purpose_. I don’t know if I’d kill as often. Or as quickly and cleanly. I want to be clean and fast. I’ve seen you work so many times… I know where to cut. It’s not like Gabriel anymore. They’re confused by what happened, but I know where to cut… to cut with purpose. They just go. And you stay.” 

“I do. I… can’t go into the office with you. I can’t. I can’t… it’s...it’s not my purpose.” 

“I know. I get that you can’t do certain things. I don’t know what or why you can’t. But I _understand_.” 

“You’ve always seemed to understand me in some way.” 

“I’ve always had to work at talking. I’ve gotten _good_ at it. You’re the hardest person to talk with. How could I resist?” He turned a smile on Fell. He was surprised to find that he actually looked entirely human. Small and tired and frightened. He tightened his hands on the wheel to not reach out to him. 

“Is it worth it? I can do so little for you… as a… as your…” 

“You’re there. It’s like I said earlier. It’s what matters.” 

“I just… I can’t do anything for you physically when you’re hurting. Can only make it worse… Wasn’t even there…” 

“I’m sorry for not realizing how hard it was on you to watch that.” 

“You’re the one that was hurt!” 

“And I should know how hard it is to watch a loved one suffer. And you really couldn’t do anything. Did you leave me at all?” 

“NO!” It was fierce and sure. He could feel his leg throb at the sound. He hissed in pain.. “Oh, Anthony, I’m making it worse!” The glow was building under his skin. He would almost certainly flee now. 

“Don’t you DARE vanish on me now. Stay in the car.” Anthony took a steadying breath and drummed fingers on the wheel for a moment. “Or don’t. You can go back to the house if you need to. Do what you need to do to be able to _stay_. If that’s go home and tell me to turn off all the lights when I come in, do that. If its stay in the car to ride home with me, do that. But I do want to see you. Know that. _Believe_ that. Let me go find out what we’re dealing with and WE, that includes you, will deal with it. Because talking to you really does help. _Believe_ that.” 

“I don’t like this feeling. This… _feeling_ feeling.” 

“Yep, it's _awful_. Not a fan. We’ll talk about making it less bad. Just… hang in there long enough to do so. I’m really not kidding about the go home with all the lights off, if you need to.” 

“Then you’re not there.” 

“Do you want me to leave the radio on in the car?” 

“Yes, please.” 

He switched the radio on and spun the dial until he found something that made Fell make an interested noise. He left him in the middle of a radio drama. He had to leave the keys in it to do it, but good luck on stealing this far even with the keys. Getting it out of park was an _adventure_ every time. 

* * *

* * *

He came into the office and was confronted by the two people he least wanted to see. Shadwell immediately scowled at him and tried to get up only to have leg go out from under him. Madame Tracy gave him a swat and then a more serious scolding at his attempt to rise. 

“Come on now, you’ll hurt yourself.” 

“It’s na tha bad. Don’t need ye fluttering round like a butterfly looking to drink from a sheep’s eye.” 

“Oh, how lovely!” She gave him what looked like a pat on the good leg, but left her hand there. The tendons on the back of her hand popped out sharply, so there was clearly actual force being put into holding his leg there. Shadwell settled into incomprehensible muttering 

Shadwell had never forgiven him for stabbing him in the leg with a pitchfork. He’d never forgiven him for almost killing his rabbits. Several of his does had miscarried and he’d lost almost all his hay. It had taken a while to sort out with the insurance, so he was terribly short on money when he needed it to take care of the farm and continue trying to fend off the Palmer’s lawyers. But that realization he could kill a human, had wanted to kill a Shadwell in that moment, had led to Gabriel’s death. That realization had been a _gift_. So he’d never reported Shadwell, even when he finally recognized him years later. 

But beyond that personal fight, Shadwell suspected _something_. He’d been the locksmith called to get the gate open on the road where he’d murdered Gabriel. He’d been the one to find it, walking over to open the second gate. It had started his obsession with what kind of evil stalked the area. He knew Anthony was capable of terrible violence, but also knew it had been a spontaneous reaction at the time. He could never reveal why he suspected Anthony, why they had some ongoing grudge. Not without his own deeds becoming known. 

Everyone including the police knew Anthony had been fighting with Gabriel. But he was still ‘that poor boy’ to so many with the way his parents had died and then Gabriel starting a legal battle with him while he was still in mourning… Who does that to a child? A legal adult, but still with that awkward gangliness of a teen that made them treat him like a child. A lost and struggling child, trying to be a man. He wasn’t well liked then. Too young, too angry, too awkward and weird, but Gabriel had been _loathed_ in that polite English way. 

No one wished to speak ill of the dead… on the record… but no one wished to speak ill of him either. There was nothing actually tying him to the murder. The body was in such bad condition when it was found that they had little to go on except the gates having been locked. Whoever it was had clearly stalked Gabriel to set that kind of trap. And Anthony had made sure he was not seen doing any such thing. 

Over the years, Shadwell had become convinced there was some kind of conspiracy. Occasionally Anthony was part of that conspiracy, especially if he was focused on the mafia again. One wan couldn’t possibly have disappeared this many people. None of Shadwell’s own connections ever mentioned Anthony, so over the years, he’d slowly sunk lower and lower on Shadwell’s suspect list. That Tracy liked him was their primary point of conflict these days. 

Tracy he quite liked. She’d been a help to him when he was younger, trying to figure those early years with Fell and what he was _seeing_. Why did some people seem to call to him? She thought he probably saw auras. It was as good an explanation as anything. He wasn’t sure she was psychic at all, but she’d pointed at enough things that had been helpful that he’d made sure never to run into her while with Fell. And now he was sitting in the car. He considered going out to warn him but he was a big supernatural entity and could take care of himself. 

“Mr. Crowley, you look a bit peaky, come sit.” It was a tiny office and only two other chairs were open. 

“He’s at the doctor’s office, of course he’s peaky. Gonna offer him tea next?” 

“There’s a water cooler. If you want to sit I can get you something to drink. Both of you. The two of you limping around like it's catching. Did you want a hand?” 

“No, got the cane for that. Just hurts more from driving myself.” and Fell’s outburst. “Be fine. I had tea just before I came. I’ll have more when I get home.” He stayed leaning against the wall for now, resting all his weight on the good leg. 

“Must be something for you to be at the doctor. The both of you stubborn old things. He was going take the bus and then walk rest of the way here.” Her hand had relaxed again and she gave Shadwell a more affectionate pat, like you’d give a disagreeable old dog you insisted didn’t bite, even while it was hanging off the mailman’s trousers. 

“Just nearly gave me a heart attack with yer scooter.” 

“We never went even close to the speed limit. Didn’t want to bang your poor leg around.” 

“Smart. I’m regretting driving myself after finishing all my chores. Forgot how much pressure shifting was going to take. Probably take a cab for next few days, if I have to go out again.” 

“You poor dear, what happened?” 

Might as well practice on someone before the doctor proper. “Hurt myself a while back and thought it was all healed up. Wasn’t. Went to make a delivery on my bicycle yesterday and I think I tore something back open.” 

“And then rode home on your bicycle instead of calling a cab?” Tracy gave him a knowing little smile. 

“It didn’t seem that bad. Just thought I was tired and a little out of shape from having been off it that long. Until it really started to hurt.” 

“Stubborn old things. And you all alone out there with no one to look after you.” 

“I can take care of myself.” 

“You shouldn’t have to.” 

“I enjoy living alone with my animals.” And Fell. 

“Oh dear, you really can’t take a break to rest though, can you? All those creatures to care for.” 

“I managed.” Just barely last time. He had called an auctioneer and sent two of his sows off to sale, just to have fewer large animals to deal with. He probably had a manageable number now, even if he was starting back at square one with healing. 

“Here, let me give you the number for the young fellow that helps Mister Shadwell out. Had an emergency this morning or he’d have been driving him here.” She raised eyebrows at him and gave him a knowing smile. “He’s just got a girlfriend, and really who can blame him taking her call first?” 

“Bloody inconvenient. She’s bewitched him with her feminine wiles and fancy words. Then going to up and head back to America as soon as she’s drained him dry, mark my words.” 

“He must be quite the catch then. Here, put him in my contacts.” He handed the phone over to Tracy with contacts pulled up and let her type it in. 

“His name’s Newton Pulsifer. I put him in your business contacts. He does a lot of odd jobs around. Never can quite seem to hold a regular job. Poor dear. I think you’ll like him. Can maybe do some of the farm chores for you for a bit.” 

“I appreciate the recommendation.” Shadwell was glaring at him, as if he was also going to steal Newton. 

The nurse popped her head out “Doctors are ready for you both. Shadwell to the right, Crowley to the left. There you go. Doctor will rap before coming in, so get your trousers off so they can see what you done.” 

Tracy guided Shadwell back into the office and then gave him a cheery little “I’ll be up front in case you need me!” She patted Anthony as he went past with cane. “You too love, if you need help to the car.” 

“Ah… about that…” She paused, head cocked in interest. “Campbell retired, moved up to Brighten. Who do you recommend that’s not going to be… “ He gestured vaguely at his face. 

“Say no more.” She held out hand for his phone again. Another number got put in, but in personal. “It’s in there as a spa, but ask for Mary specifically. She’ll talk your ear off, but you like that. Get you seen to right off. And come by for tea.” 

“Sorry it's been so long.” He was. It had been months with the injury and then trying to catch back up with all the delayed work at the farm. 

“You’re forgiven since you’ve been unwell, just have the young man drive you.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“You’re such a polite thing. You turned out so _well_.” There was a bit of pride there. She had been equally useful in being firm with him about a great many social niceties. 

He got into the office and managed to get out of his trousers without too much fuss. The wound did look red to him again. The nurse had left a drape to throw over him for some extra privacy, so he did that. It was a tad chilly to be sitting there in just a shirt and briefs. 

He looked up the spa on his phone while waiting. It had quite the webpage, touting it as a converted nunnery and thus had “healing vibrational energy” from centuries of prayer by the previous occupants. He wasn’t so sure about this bit about their healing chalk caves “drawing out impurities”, but whatever worked for people. He trusted Tracy’s judgment on what kind of masseuse would put him at ease enough for him to get some benefit out of it. Get touched and manipulated in a safe, controlled way so he didn’t seek out contact with someone he knew he should never, ever touch. 

There was a rap on the door and he put his phone down. “All set!” 

His favorite of the two doctor Stanleys came in. Maude gave him a mock exasperated face. “What did you do this time?” 

“Something stupid.” 

“Hear that’s catching.” 

“When isn’t it?” 

She laughed and it made the rest easier. He only had to lie a little about how he got injured. The upside of everyone knowing he worked with knives was letting them assume he’d injured himself. She didn’t pry too closely about exactly how he’d ended up with a knife in his leg, letting him keep his dignity and secrets. She listened to his description of what he’d done to clean and close the wound. He pulled up the website for the antibiotic dust so she could write down the exact contents. 

“This very clearly says for use on pigs.” 

“Oink?” 

She laughed again. “Maybe get something from the druggist to put in your first aid kit. But this will do in a pinch. It’s not ideal but most of this was exactly what hospital would have done. What’s done is done, so just try and take better care of yourself.” 

“Be much more careful of knives.” 

“Maybe wear an apron?” 

“Didn’t have it on. Like a….” 

“Ah- ah. Do better next time. You’re going to focus on healing now, not being angry at yourself or the world.” He grumbled a little at that, but it was hard to resist someone that effortlessly positive. 

She got a stool so she could sit and just look at his leg for a moment without touching, asking him to move it a little and answer questions about his pain level in different positions. 

“Are you ready for me to touch you?” 

“Yep.” He wasn’t really, but he wasn’t going to get readier. He wasn’t tensing leg, so this was as good as they’d get. 

“Let me know if your pain level increases when I touch or if it's just uncomfortable. Where are you at after moving it?” 

“About a 5. It was down to 1 or 2 depending on how damp it was and it might sometimes hit this when I overdid it. It was probably a 6 last night. That it’s not come down worries me.” 

She was careful with palpating the leg, with him occasionally hissing out sixes and sevens as she found more intense spots. 

“I’m not quite sure if you have an infection, a muscle tear, or both. I’d have to send you for a scan to be sure. It’s in the wrong spot for you to have nicked a tendon, so good news. Right now strict rest and antibiotics. I think you may get some bruising coming up in the next day or two so it may get worse before it starts to get better. Can I mark your leg with a marker to find the edges?” 

“Will that be helpful?” 

“You can check it at home over next few days and see if it is getting bigger or smaller.” 

“Alright.” 

She made some careful marks along the edges, with a few more hisses from him. “Check along that line and draw a new line each day to see what it's doing. If it gets bigger, we’ll switch what you’re taking. I’m going to give you a script for an antibiotic to knock out any infection. Something from a different class than what you used on it to start with. I’ll have Leslie drop it for you tonight.” 

“I can just stop at the druggist.” 

“You drive straight home and stay off your feet unless absolutely necessary. Leslie has to go check on a patient over your way anyway. Going to have that baby any day now. Now, no stairs if you can avoid them. Put a plastic chair in the shower. If you have a rolling chair, scoot yourself around the house. Use the cane for at least three days days past when you think you need to. And stay off the bicycle. Now, I want to draw some blood too, make sure it's not something that’s spread. You’re overdue for your annual anyway.” 

“Just going to poke and prod me everywhere while you can.” 

“Yes. You’re doing very well. But, we can skip everything except the blood work if you’re too stressed.” 

He thought about Fell having struggled to tell him something was wrong and worried there was genuinely something more. Coming back would be worse. He’d rather know. 

“Nah, do all of it.” 

“Alright, why don’t you pick out a plaster for the blood draw. I have fun ones....” 

“I’m not nine.” 

“I have bats.” 

“Well… big spooky fan, me. Match the outfit.” 

“That’s the spirit.” He stared off at a poster about nutrition while blood was drawn. The blood didn’t bother him. The needles didn’t bother him. Someone else handling them did. 

“There you go. And the bats do match.” He looked at the purple plaster with the cartoon bats and he felt stupidly pleased over it. He really was too old for this to work on… and it did anyway. It made it a tiny bit easier every time. She didn’t know all the details of what sorts of trauma he had, just that he needed some extra time to prepare to deal with things and encouragement. Even if it did mean he got the kids plasters. 

There was a thump from the other side of the wall and a muffled string of angry noises. He flinched a little. Cute plasters clearly did not work on Shadwell. 

“Are you still alright to continue?” 

“Yep. Do your worst. Can’t be worse than next door.” 

“You’ve never bitten or punched me, so really you’re a very easy patient.” 

“Thought that was vets that usually got bit.” 

“I wanted to be a vet when I was little, but I found out patients that can talk are easier to work with.” There was another curse from the other side of the wall. 

“Am I? Easy?” He knew they did things a little differently than normal to accommodate him. He appreciated the extra care. It made him feel like a person rather than a collection of problems. 

“Doesn’t matter. You get whatever care you’ll _let_ me give you, whether you’re easy or not. Are you up for having your eyes looked at? We didn’t do that last time and you’re getting older.” 

“Hmm. Alright.” He took his glasses off and let her check him over. Struggled with the eye chart as usual. She pulled up photos from last check up to make sure his pupils were still the same abnormal but normal for him shape. 

“I am starting to see a little cloudiness in your eyes. You might be getting the beginnings of a cataract. I’d like to send you to an oculist. How do you feel about that?” 

“Bad. Not sure I can do that.” This was why he liked this doctor. She’d ask about how he felt before going forward. Work towards something he _could_ do. 

“Have you noticed your vision getting any worse?” 

“No. But it's always been so fuzzy without glasses on, I’m not sure I’d notice a change.” 

“I’m going to make a note to check again next time you’re in. If you start having trouble doing tasks you could do before, come in sooner. If it gets worse and I need to give you a referral to an oculist, how about we send him all the old photos ahead of time so you don’t have to deal with questions all at once. Does that sound like a good solution?” 

“Mmmm. Only if I say I’m having trouble. And if my leg falls off first, I won’t have to worry about the oculist.” 

“Your leg won’t fall off. We’ll get you right as rain again. If it seems to be getting worse, you call right away. Might even persuade me to make a house call.” 

“Would you?” 

“If it keeps you off your feet. But getting a ride is preferable. Since most of the equipment is here. Just treat yourself gently. Eat whatever you like for a bit, don’t worry about whether it's nutritious. It’s more important you eat regularly and get lots of rest than eat enough salad. I wouldn’t live entirely on tea and biscuits, but if that’s what you can manage in a day, that’s what you eat..” 

“You said go straight home, but….take away?” 

“Have them bring it to the car, then straight home with you. Take something for the pain when you get home. Something that doesn’t say it's for use on pigs.” 

“I will get something when I’m allowed to drive again.” 

“Go home, but I don’t want you driving unless you’re under at 3 or less for pain. Don’t go aggravating it with that shifter.” 

“Home and I’ll spend an evening eating dinner and watching a movie. Only up on my feet to feed the animals.” There was another thump from the other side of the wall. 

“Mind how you go then. I’ll just go see how Leslie’s doing…” 

She left him to get dressed and take as long as he needed to get into motion. The volume next door was definitely escalating. Madame Tracy was out in the waiting room blissfully ignoring the whole thing. 

“Ah… I’m not supposed to drive for a bit. When should I ring you about tea?” 

“And you’re driving yourself home?” She pursed her lips at him 

“Special dispensation. I’m to get takeaway and rest and take antibiotics. Hopefully Shadwell is as simple. What did he do?” 

“Wouldn’t say, was just limping terribly when I came in from the shops.S tuck halfway up the stairs with that pile of papers of his.” She clucked her tongue. “Stubborn old thing.” 

“Well if it's just rest… good luck.” 

“Oh, I’ll _make_ him rest. You ring me up next week about tea. Call one of the days you know I’m free.” 

He nodded and made his way slowly out, half expecting Fell to not still be in the car. But there he was, intensely focused on the radio. He poked at a loose stone in the drive with the cane to send it clattering. He’d snuck up on Fell a few times before when he was intensely focused like this, using a distraction to try and hold his form, and it generally hadn’t ended well. Fell only twitched a little at the sound so he coughed. Fell turned his head entirely too fast to look at Anthony, like he was worried he had some new ailment. 

“I’m done. I’m to get takeaway on the way home and focus on resting. Stay off my feet as much as possible.” 

“But are you…” 

“Probably fine? Let’s get takeaway and go home and we’ll talk about it where we’re relaxed. I need a little bit to just calm down. It wasn’t… bad. Just. Past things make it stressful.” 

“What’s that on your arm?” 

“Just a plaster. I’ve got plain ones at home. Usually this kind is for kids.” 

“It has bats on it.” 

“I was good.” 

“Is it different?” 

“What with bats?” 

“The ones for children.” 

“They just have patterns on them. Make it less scary.” 

“Is it?” 

“A little.” 

“Why do you own plain ones then?” 

“That is a good question. Next time, getting the fun ones. Now where shall we get takeaway? I’m to rest, so this is also going to be leftovers for a few days so I am not cooking much. Though you seemed enthusiastic about oatmeal this morning.” 

“Normally you do cook much more and more complicated things when you’re cooking for me.” 

“It gets tiring to just cook for me alone, so I make simpler things. Or things I’ll eat leftovers from for a few days straight. Not a new thing every meal.” 

“So this will be more like you normally eat.” 

“Yes. You’ve seen me. You just haven’t had the “eat the same leftovers for three days straight” experience. Be an adventure.” 

“Well, then, perhaps you should pick based on that? What makes good leftovers?” 

“Curry. We’re getting curry. Several different ones. All better the next day. Let me call in order and we’ll be all set.” 

It was a good distraction up until they go home and then had to contemplate carrying a huge bag into house. After being so animated, Fell’s face drew in again. 

“I can’t even carry things for you.” 

“It’s… I’ll sort it out. Give me a moment. I managed earlier, it’s fine.” 

“It's not that you can’t. I want… and I can’t.” 

“I know. Believe me I _understand_.” 

“How can you? You have… you have everything. You do everything for me.” 

“Fell…” 

His head snapped around at being called by name. 

“I have no idea how old you are. I have some idea of _what_ you are and know I shouldn’t name that. But really, I do know. You came for Da at the end. You’ve come for animals. You probably came for Mum.” There was a tight nod confirming that. “But I don’t think you were really present for the before part. Not actually dying yet, but when you know it’s inevitable.. Not in a meaningful way.” 

“I was present several times when it was close. He was very stubborn.” 

“Sounds about right. But you weren’t there in between.” 

“No. I had… I was more… elsewhere. Was… different.” 

“So you’re not used to seeing someone suffer without there being an end to it. You _are_ the end.” 

“I don’t kill people” 

“No, that’s my job.” 

“Anthony! That’s not funny!” 

“It’s a _little_ funny.” 

“No, no it is not! I don’t kill people! Sometimes, people summon me to do that, but that’s not… oh, oh dear…” His eyes widened as he’d said more than he should. 

“I get it. You don’t kill people You’re what comes after. You make sure they don’t get caught or linger on. Make sure they aren’t still suffering. It’s a great power. It’s a great responsibility. And you stayed with me and with all that… couldn’t make it stop.” 

“Why can’t I help you? I… you’re _mine_.” He seemed sure of that. Nothing else right now, but there was a fierceness there. None of that growl of him losing his form. Or that command. He sounded entirely human. 

“Hey, hey, you’re mine too. And most of what I can do for you is talk to you. And you’re happy with that. Can you believe that’s true for me? That talking is helping?” 

“But I can’t do that unless _you_ kill. It’s… I shouldn’t want things. Shouldn’t want… you’re _mine_.” 

“I am. You believe that. And you know I _want_ that. I’m just...Would you be happier if you never met me?” 

“I don’t think I would have really known what _happiness_ is. I did what I was made to do.” 

“Like I _made_ you?” 

“No. Yes. I don’t remember. I’m so _old_. My purpose has always been clear. It’s just so part of me, I can’t… it's hard to think about _feeling_ about it. It’s just… there. Feelings are… I don’t think I liked the old ones very much. It’s been so _long_.” 

“That… explains a lot actually. Can you… can you tell me about it?” 

“No.” He sounded deeply frustrated. This was clearly in the can’t category of things rather than won’t. That silence stretched between them, excruciatingly uncomfortable. 

“Alright, let's do the thing you CAN do for me. Let’s go feed the ravens again and you CAN watch if anyone is watching. Let them get started on feeding before it gets dark. Then we’ll feed us.” 

“Yes, that I can do.” He was out of the car without bothering with the door. No door was ever really closed to him. A vague idea was trying to form in the back of Anthony’s mind about how Fell got around. He could ride in the car. But also could move right through it. He’d let it just stew back there for a while. 

He pushed the little garden cart from the side of the barn into the butchering area proper. It was a four wheel thing with a way to swap the handles out from push to pull. Push meant he could rest his weight on it while walking, push the whole weight of it with the good leg, and use the cart itself to support him on the bad one. He’d gotten fairly good at balancing on one leg during his convalescence and it came back to him now. He just needed to sometimes keep a hand on the cart or a counter while he unloaded the contents of the fridge. It went quickly so he didn’t initially realize Fell was silent. He was seized with the fear he’d vanished and he’d be talking to an empty home for the foreseeable future. 

“Are you still there?” 

“Yes?” Fell appeared in the doorway, backlit by the late afternoon sun. He actually cast a shadow for once and Anthony stared at that for a moment, perplexed. 

“Just couldn’t hear you.” 

“Oh. We were just both focused. There’s just all the birds. No humans close enough to see anything. No cameras either.” He briefly looked up at the sky and frowned. 

“Good. I’ll get this done and we can have dinner and then I’ll just rest. Maybe I won’t fall asleep so early this time.” 

“You should if it helps.” 

“I know… just… we only have so much time. You usually go while I’m asleep.” 

“I wish I didnt’ have to.” 

“How badly would it hurt me if you stayed? Or would it hurt you?” 

“I… just being here I think made it not heal completely. Once you could see me it got so much worse.” 

Anthony pushed the cart out the door and they slowly made their way towards the copse of trees. The birds caught sight of him and started cawing excitedly, hopping from branch to branch. 

“Don’t regret it. Worth seeing you anyway. But we need to talk about you staying. If you _can_ talk about it.” 

“I can’t stay.” 

“You said you stayed even when I can’t see you.” 

“Yes. I… I didn’t leave unless I had to.” 

“Okay. That’s.. That’s sweet. But it's not _healthy_ either.” 

“I don’t think _health_ is something that applies to me.” 

“Not the same way it does to me. But you’re having trouble holding your shape. More than usual. It hadn’t been this bad in awhile.” 

“It’s fine. I'll stay as long as I can.” 

“Please do. But when I can’t see you… I want you to actually go out. Do some things. Go to the pub when they’ve got a band. Go wander around the library during the day, see if they have a story time. Go for a walk somewhere you haven’t been in awhile..” 

“You want me to leave you?” He sounded so terribly lost. He’s stopped walking. Standing stock still as if he couldn’t manage to interact with the world and talk at the same time. Maybe he really couldn’t. 

“ _No_. I want you here. This is your _home_. But I want you to go do something _just for you_. Because watching me suffer while you can’t do anything about it is exhausting and painful. And just staying with me without doing anything to make _you_ feel better makes _you_ hurt more. It’s a nasty loop.” 

“Why is this _happening_?” 

The question hung there between them. Anthony had gotten to the copse now and started tossing chunks of flesh and bone over the wall. The ravens and crows swarmed over them. There would be nothing left by the morning. Carried off into the land. That shell of a person gone away just like what had lived inside it. Anthony had killed him. Fell had set him free. Anthony fed the ravens. He would feed Fell soon enough. Fell stared at the body being destroyed in a way he’d never looked at any other body. He stared at Anthony’s hands. Was he picturing his own doing something similar to Anthony when the time came? 

Anthony’s shadow stretched out in the late afternoon sun, touching Fell in a way he could never do himself. He took some of that frustration and channeled it into tossing the last piece deep into the copse, hearing it hit a tree with a wet, meaty thump. Fell flinched. 

“You… feel things about me, I think? I’m yours you said. But I think you meant it as more than just, you’ll get me eventually.” He turned the cart and started making a slow way back to the house. 

“Yes… I’m yours, too. Your…” There was a struggle there as Fell _couldn’t_ say whatever it was. “It is inevitable. You will come to me. It’s written. And I… I didn't know what that _meant_. How I would _feel_ about it. I don’t have a name for how I feel. _Bad_. Complicated _bad._ ” 

“Yep. ‘Complicated bad’ is a good description. We’ll talk about that next time. There will _be_ a next time. Believe me on that. I’m way too stubborn for there not to be. This is… just a lot of feelings to deal with. But I do _understand_ how hard it is to watch a loved one suffer. I went through that with Mum and Da. Mostly Da since he hung on so long. It took him a while to realise how much I hurt too. He didn’t have words for what was happening. I didn’t either. And I didn’t let him see how much I hurt. I thought all I could do was not let him know I hurt.” 

“We eventually went to a counselor. That helped a lot. And what I’m telling you to do is what she told me. I didn’t want to do it either. Da insisted. Had some of his old buddies stop by. Most of them were sick too by then, but still healthier than him. He called a cab to take me to and from the movies. Get me out of the house so they could talk about the old times _not suitable for young ears”_ He did a credible impression of his voice. Even after all this time. “I think they actually played cards and listened to disco records while talking about what drug cocktail they were taking.” 

“And it felt really wrong and bad, like I should never have gone out and I should come home instantly. And then I started looking forward to it, because I didn’t have to do for someone else for a while. Get away from just stewing in knowing whatever I did wasn’t _enough_. And then sometime in there I realised I was having fun and I didn’t think about that Da was home, still hurting. That I hadn’t thought about trying just one more thing for hours.. And I felt bad about that. But overall, I eventually felt less bad. I was better able to take care of me. Which meant Da wasn’t worried about me. So it worked out I could take care of him by taking care of me. I don’t want you to hurt just because I do. It doesn’t help either of us.” 

“I know that’s a lot to think about. And trying to pick how and when to go can be hard too. You’ve never had to do this before. How about you treat it like every time I have a follow up appointment at the doctor, you’re going to get treated too. And for you, that’s spending the rest of the day doing something just for you. Whatever that is. If that’s too hard to figure out something just for you, think of it like you’re going to do something you like, specifically so you can tell about it when I see you again. Just be home for bed. I’ll put on an audiobook for you like normal.” 

“I don’t want you to die.” 

“Bit of a problem there then. I will eventually. I just don’t intend for it to be soon.” 

“I _should_ want you to. It’s my… it’s my…” 

“Purpose. I know.” Fell looked both relieved and heartbroken. Like he’d just truly understood _himself._ “It’s okay. I’ve known for a long time what you are. I think. Then I’m with you. Get to see you as you really are finally.” 

““What if you don’t like it?” 

“I like _you_.” 

“I’m yours.” There was a ring there, as if Fell was trying to tell him something more but it was one of the things he _couldn’t_ actually say. 

“You are. I… more than like you.” 

“You’re very attached.” It also had a strange ring to it. It was more than that. 

“I do want to stay with you. Very much. Bit of a problem there. But I understand if you have to make me go. It’s your purpose.” 

“What if… what if I don’t…” 

“We don’t have to talk about all that now. I don’t think.” 

“What did the doctor say?” 

“I’ve probably got an infection and maybe a muscle tear too. We’ll go through some antibiotics and knock down an infection. Lots of rest for both. Took some blood.” 

“They took your BLOOD?” There was that slip in Fell’s voice, some bit of real panic real. 

“That’s what the plaster is for. Just a bit.” 

“They took your _blood_.” 

“I still have almost all of it. What’s the matter?” 

“People can do _things_ with that.” He was now in restless motion, looking out and away from them, as if there was some external threat that was about to descend on them. 

“Yep, they’re gonna run some tests and make sure I don’t have a blood infection. That would be really bad, so she wants to make sure that’s not true. Just as a preventative thing. Make sure she didn’t miss anything. Get me as healthy as I can be for as long as I can be. She’s not doing sorcery with it. Honest. Do you have no idea how doctors work?” 

“They’re supposed to make you better. They have… methods.” He was staring off in the direction of the doctor’s office like he was going to go fight her for his blood back. 

“The other doctor is going to stop by later and drop off the pills I’m supposed to take to get better. No blood or sorcery or whatever you think is involved.” 

“Things to…” There was that terrible tenseness in his hands again, as if that blade would be pulled out to fight something. “I want to stay with you. You shouldn’t have to do that alone.” 

“Alright, scratch the earlier request that you go do things while I’m at the doctor’s office. I’ll come back to the car and tell you everything. Or back at the house if I had to be driven there. I’ll assume you’re there. But I do still want you to do something for yourself though. How about whenever I go to the grocery, you go do something for yourself for the rest of the day? Then it’ll be a surprise what I got me to eat. Be fun.” 

“How can you be so… calm?” 

“I’ve seen so many people die. Killed so many. I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of you.” 

“You should be.” 

“Have I ever really been? You’ve spooked me sometimes, hurt me quite a few times, but I know you’re not a killer. You’re just what comes after. And I’ve seen that. It’ll be nice to be… you have such gentle hands.” 

“Useless ones.” He scowled at his hands.  
“They serve their purpose. They let you do what you need to do. Pick up your bowl.” 

“So you can feed me. Do more things _for_ me.” He sounded so utterly frustrated. 

“Hang on. Can you go get it?” 

“What for?” 

“No, I’m asking you if you _can_. Without me handing it to you.” 

“I… can give it back to you. When I’m done. So… yes?” 

“Please go get it.” 

Fell looked baffled but was eager to be able to do something, anything, so hurried off at a near jog, going right through the front door. Anthony made it over to the Bentley again and opened the door to the back sat. Sat on that sideways, waiting for Fell to return. He rummaged in the takeaway bag and found a plastic utensil. 

Fell came back a minute later, looking a little confused but ancient artifact firmly in hand. He’d passed right through the door with it. His hands looked considerably longer and leaner against it than usual. His movement was strange, almost stalking. Like holding it brought something out in him. 

“Are we eating out here?” 

“I hope not. We’re gonna try something. Can I put not-food in it?” 

“Yes?” There was a curious tilt to his head, like a confused animal. 

Anthony waved him closer, so he was looming over him. “Can I take things out of it?” 

Fell rolled his neck in a strange manner, a slow tilt back and forth with an audible crack. He seemed unaware of his shape slipping. 

“Not once you offered them to me.” There was that growl in his voice again, something deep and dangerous. Not an animal noise, but something of the earth shifting. 

“Offered. If you have something in there, can you offer it to me?” 

“To you?” the texture of his clothes looked wrong, shifting. It still looked like fabric at least. 

“You can give the bowl back to me when you’re done. There’s just usually nothing in it. I gave it to you. I gave you an offering. If you give the bowl back to me with something in it, is it an offering to me?” 

“You’re not… you’re human.” That stumble in speech made Fell blink, look around like he’d just realised his form was slipping. 

“And humans offer things to each other. Can you do that?” 

“I’m not human.” There was a pause and peculiar twist of head again. “You can’t see me. Not like this.” 

“I’ll take my glasses off. We can try this.” He took his glasses off and hung them off the front of his shirt. He could still see Fell, but the details were poor, especially with the sun so low. 

“Why? What do you want?” 

“I want to offer you this fork. To carry inside. For me.” 

“To carry… for you.?” 

“You’re _offering_ to carry this fork inside.” 

“Oh. OH. Yes, yes I am!” There was a sickening pop noise. He closed his eyes completely and could just see some extra light against his closed eyelids 

“You blurry bastard, I can’t see anything except your _wiggles_. Tell me when to drop it.” 

“Right. Oh. yes. I hope this works. Now.” He sounded very human again, but was even brighter. 

There was scratching noise of plastic and the sense of Fell moving away. There was a faint bit of noise by the house and a frustrated noise from Fell. 

“I can’t go inside.” 

“Come back and offer me a fork then.” 

There was a return of that brightness and that sense of him having returned. 

“I have an offering for you Anthony J. Crowley.” Something about having his name included seemed _right_. Strange and momentous and also patently ridiculous. 

“Is it a fork?” 

“It _is_ a fork. Do you accept this offering of a fork?” 

“I have always wanted a fork. How did you know?” 

“I’ve known you a long time. I have always wanted to offer you a fork.” 

“I accept your offering of a fork.” He put his hand out carefully, keeping fingers soft. There was a shift in the light and he could feel the bowl pressed against his hand. He put his hand in and wrapped it around the fork. Now he wasn't quite sure what to DO with it. He stuck it behind his ear since he wasn’t going to be able to put his glasses back on. 

There was a faint laugh from Fell. “You look… ridiculous. And _perfect_.” 

“Start a fashion trend. Now, would you like to make me another offering?” 

“ _Anything._ ” 

“If I open the door for you, I think you can carry the takeaway in for me?” 

“I would absolutely love to offer to carry things for you.” 

“Curry things.” 

“That was _terrible_.” 

“You going to do it anyway?” 

“I would love nothing more.” 


	5. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some wounds never truly heal, only scar. But you can live with them. Anthony keeps living. 
> 
> This is a particularly heavy chapter dealing with his past and how that effects his present. Please read the author not carefully about specific content warning. and you may wish to skip this chapter entirely. It ends with another dad joke though!
> 
> There is a detailed trigger info and chapter summary in the author note at the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> specific warnings:  
> After effects of child abuse includes repetitive behaviors with self harm which he eventually outgrew  
> Child neglect resulting in severe language deficit  
> Dehumanization and denial of a sense of Self as a child  
> Denial of basic human contact as a child  
> Anthony describes turning a traumatic memory of abuse into a game with his adopted parents. He recognizes its horrible, but also that the game could be STOPPED at any time made him start to feel safer.  
> Fear of water due to past scalding incident  
> Victim blaming- directed at self  
> Realization that there may be no getting to “normal” as defined by society, just “better”  
> Possibility of institionalization due to his severe neglect as a child  
> Past homophobia & transphobia- denial of chosen family as family & being disowned by birth family  
> Anthony continues to struggle with pain from injury. Treatment of infection is indirectly addressed. he describes possibility wound may need to be drained  
> Possible future surgery for vision correction mentioned  
> Medication side effects discussed- photosensitivity  
> Adopted parents PTSD due to military service addressed and their coping methods including screaming, substance abuse, and self harm. They are aware they aren’t good. Fear is expressed they may pass these on to Anthony
> 
> here is a summary of the what happens this chapter:  
> *Fell fades away, as usual. They talk about what Anthony needs, physically. Will he be alright? He reassures Fell he is taken care of. He sleeps on the couch and manages to share a blanket with Fell. He specifically invites Fell to stay in his bedroom when he sleeps, when he moves back upstairs. Fell agrees.  
> * Newt arrives to help him at the farm. Anthony is a little disconcerted by having him around. Newt is under the impression farm is haunted.  
> * his health generally improves, with some relapses. recovery is not a straight line. He talks to Fell about it. he specifically stats he wants to make sure Fell knows its a discussion, he wants to hear his reply, but is also patiently waiting. He tells him he has something he wants to talk about, but doesn't feel its fair to say when Fell doesn't have a chance to answer immediately.  
> * the Them return and ask about what really happened. what is it that adults don't warn them about? Anthony tells them about both being neglected and his adopted parents trying to take care of him when they were broken enough people to have trouble taking care of themselves. No one where would ever geet to be "normal" they could just try to heal enough to be "better"  
> * the cemetery is revealed to contain people who had been disowned by their birth families or their birth family refused to let their partner be buried with them in a family plot.

Fell stayed as long as he could. His spirits seemed buoyed by finally being able to DO something for Anthony, physically, even if it seemed to make his form slip a bit. He never truly seemed to entirely lose that human shape, but it was clear he didn’t quite _fit_ inside the current one. What exactly was subtly wrong changed so sometimes it was the odd way he turned his head. Sometimes it was hands that seemed much fiercer and stronger than usual, though still with those perfectly polished nails. Sometimes his voice simply sounded _old_. Still with that little tetchy or anxious edge to it, but like it belonged to someone that had led a longer and rougher life than his appearance indicated. He seemed unaware of it and so long as it didn’t get worse, Anthony wasn’t going to point it out. He just took his glasses off when they were inside and he didn’t need to see clearly. He spent most of the day indoors as the antibiotic the other Dr. Stanley dropped off listed photosensitivity as a side effect. He’d gotten a verbal reminder to be extra careful of his eyes while taking it, use sunscreen. 

He didn’t want to worry Fell but he also didn’t want to lie to him about his health either and the warning about possible eye damage from antibiotics made him bring up that his eyes were getting a little cloudy. 

“Are you going blind?” 

“I legally am with my glasses off. Have been the entire time you’ve known me. It’d just be even worse. On the bright side, then you don’t have to worry about me accidentally seeing you.” 

“How can you be so calm about it? It’s not funny!” 

“S’true though. But if I take care of myself, no they shouldn’t get to point where I’m actually blind even with glasses. They can do surgery for cataracts these days if they get bad. I might not be able to drive myself around for a bit if I need to get that done. But that’s _years_ off. I just don’t want you surprised about that, since I’m going to tell you about any visits I had. And I won’t be able to hear your questions. My eyes are already bad, so I just need to careful about taking good care of them. So there’s going to be some extra things the doctor tells me to do, or not do, based on that. It’s nothing to worry about now. I just realised I hadn’t really discussed with you why I do some things. You were never a child. You missed the _why_ for some things. Is there anything you want to know _why_ I do?” 

“Hmmm. _Anything_?” He was trying to play along, not worry, but there was still that thread of anxiety under the teasing. 

“It’s going to be something embarrassing isn’t it, you bastard.” 

“I shall have to _consider_.” 

“I will prepare myself for the most embarrassing possible question.” 

Fell gave him occasional apprising little looks as their time was all too quickly running out. That he needed to stay indoors seemed to extend the time a little since he could spend so much time with the lights off or his glasses off. They were long past pretending any of this was normal. 

He was sitting up on the couch next to Fell, that pillow in between them. They could share a blanket though. It seemed almost normal. He wasn’t sure why it didn’t pass right through Fell, or Fell through the couch, but he’d take it. Even if the blanket smelled a bit weird for days after. 

They both knew Fell would be gone in the morning, so he was delaying sleeping as long as possible. Having the light out and glasses off wasn’t helping. Fell seemed to have lost much of his earlier anxiety as they’d settled into a more familiar rhythm. As they’d discussed what needed to be done. Newton would be coming in the morning to help him clean up the rabbit area and spread pig manure. It could only be put off so long. Knowing someone would be there to help him seemed to have allayed Fell’s fears. It was odd to think that something so powerful could be so afraid _for_ him. 

“I thought of a thing to ask you about why.” Fell’s voice had developed that raspy sense of age again. There was a soft glow around him like this when he was fading. That odd warm and living darkness or the inside of an eyelid. 

“Do your worst.” 

“Why did you never seek someone else out? Physically.” 

“That wasn’t quite what I meant when I said you could ask me _why_. But I guess it’s fair. I go to the masseuse. Going to see a new one one soon. Tracy recommended her. I’ll see how it goes.” 

“I’ve seen that. Is it nice? You make weird noises. I’m not sure if they’re good noises.” 

“Yes. People need a certain amount of touching to be well. Pleasurable is good, but sometimes just _sensation_ too. Even weird and unsettling feelings are desirable sometimes. For children especially. It’s part of why I was so messed up as a child. Did all kinds of weird things. I pulled my own hair. Rocked. Picked my skin raw. Chewed on objects. Pounded my hands on things.” 

“I’ve never seen you do any of that.” 

“Learned better outlets for it. And I just grew out of the worst of it. Mum and Da were very rough with me. Much rougher than normal people should _be_ with a child. Left bruises on me enough times the social worker was concerned, at least ‘til she saw how they played with me. Like I wasn’t fragile at all. Like I was strong and healthy and active even though I was a scrawny little thing and wildly uncoordinated. And that I sought it out, once I wasn’t terrified of them. 

“I used to hide under stuff. In cupboards and things. And then I’d grab at them as they went past. Or hit them. It was a game. Maybe the first game I played with them. Maybe with _anyone_. Get Mum to drag me out from under the counter while I clung to stuff underneath and fought him. So I was still banging on things but I wasn’t doing it _alone_. Getting pulled around and grabbed and I’m screaming the whole time. Like I’m terrified and fighting, but I’m _not._ It can stop anytime I want now. Mum _would_ stop as soon as I was actually scared or if I banged myself too hard on something and started to cry. All the times something like that had happened before and it wasn’t a game and it didn’t stop, now I got to control when it did stop. Gosh, it sounds _horrible_ when I say it out loud.” 

“I mean, there were times when I _was_ scared and I was _genuinely_ hiding. But they seemed to understand. I wasn’t reaching out then. Wasn’t starting it. And they let me just hide, be quiet and still. They’d come check on me. Leave me juice and crackers. But let me hide or squeeze myself behind stuff so long as I wasn’t hurting myself. But they’d talk _near_ me. Let me know where they were that way. So I wasn’t alone, but they weren’t… interacting with me if I was too scared to do so. Just there. It wasn’t even close to normal. 

“I didn’t know how abnormal it was til I was older. How abnormal the things they did were. Da used to lay in the pond. Sometimes he’d go outside and scream himself hoarse while he threw hay bales. He wore fingerless gloves all the time because he’d chew his knuckles bloody. It was tough when he was sick at the end because so much of his coping had been so physical. So _destructive_. Mum was quieter. Mostly he’d hide in the closet. Let all the coats and things in there muffle all the sounds and block out all the light ‘til he stopped shaking. If it wasn’t that bad yet, sometimes he ate chalk as a distraction.” 

“I didn’t think humans ate chalk.” 

“They can’t digest it. But people will eat all kinds of weird things that aren’t food. He’d chew ice when we are out. Go through a whole glass of just ice at a restaurant. He did it more once he was sick and was trying to cut down on smoking. I remember him doing both at once on a really bad day. And him telling me not to do either. But handing me both to try. It wasn’t the taste I don’t think. But just the texture… the feel of that on your teeth… Sometimes people do weird things like that when we’re messed up. Sometimes it’s a weird way of healing. It leaves a scar, but you live with the scar instead of die from the wound. You can’t quite deal with the horrible thing that happened, but some sensation or repetition of part of it, but with a different ending makes the horrible thing go away in your brain. Sometimes it makes it worse. We’re complicated creatures.” 

“That eat rocks and lay in ponds and scream at hay and tell people not to do exactly what they’re doing right now.” 

“I think I left you with even more whys than answers.” 

“It didn’t quite answer the first one. So you go to the masseuse now. Because humans need to be touched.” 

“I’d have to go a lot more often if we didn’t live on a farm. I’ve got all these animals to touch and be touched by. Sometimes when you see me just standing around and scratching Snuff for as long as he’ll let me, that’s why.” 

“And I can’t touch you at all.” 

“S’alright for me. Talking with you is what I like best. Is that… is that something you need? The touching?” 

“I get to touch things. It’s just not for very long. The last few days were enjoyable. Even if I am doing this because you are hurt. I might like to do this later. When you’re not hurt. When you are better.” 

“I will get better.” 

“I believe you will try.” 

“I will succeed, because I am a stubborn bastard that got better a lot of times before. They just weren’t from obvious wounds.” 

“Are you though? Better?” 

“Sometimes it never really heals so it's what other people consider normal. It heals so you can keep living. Even if it's weird and painful sometimes. Changes your life so you have to work around it. But you keep _living_.” 

“Are you… happy? Living like this?” 

“Be nice to touch you, but I have my needs met in that regard. I treasure your company, even without much of a physical component. Hearing you, seeing you. But even when I can’t, I know you’re _here_. With me.” 

“I like it here too. But I have to go soon.” 

“I know. I know you’ll be here in the morning. I just won’t see you. That’s always the worst day. That first one. So I’ll probably be sad tomorrow. My leg will hurt more.” 

“Even though I may be making your condition worse being here, you’ll hurt more tomorrow?.” 

“It will hurt more because I miss you. You may hurt more tomorrow too. Not physically. But other ways. So don’t be surprised by it. Or that I hurt more. Or that having done things for me physically for the last few days, not being able to hits you harder. I know you want to take care of me. But you also need to take care of you.” 

“I will try to do as you asked. About doing things for me. It’s… new. I’ve done many new things with you. Without you is… I don’t like it.” 

“It sucks.” 

“You’re so _eloquent._ ” 

“M’tired. Used up all the smart words.” 

“Go to sleep. I will be here when you next call me.” 

“I hate to kick you off the couch… but I need to lay down.” 

“I will lay on the floor next to you then.” 

He felt Fell’s presence move away from him, that slight shift in blanket of it no longer being over him. He swung his legs up onto the couch and adjusted the blanket. 

“Are you still here?” 

“Yes. “ He really _was_ laying on the floor. 

“If you get close enough, we can share the blanket again. I’ll tuck my arm inside my shirt so I don’t accidentally dangle it off the edge and touch you. So you don’t have to worry.” 

“I’d like that.” He could sense Fell’s presence move closer to him. There was a soft little pop and a sigh from Fell indicating some more of his form was going. But he didn’t have to try and hold it together anymore. Anthony adjusted the blanket and could it feel it contact something considerably bigger than what should have been lying on the floor. 

“Maybe when I go back to sleeping upstairs, I’ll put the audiobook for you on the upstairs speakers too. In my room. So you could stay in mine, if you like?” 

“I’d like that very, very much.” 

* * *

* * *

Fell was gone in the morning. Newton had come in his place. It wasn’t a fair trade. 

Newt was just as nervous though in a totally different way. He startled suddenly, flailing about in the clumsiest way like he’d just walked into a spiderweb in the middle of an empty room. Anthony’d long since stopped walking into Fell accidentally. Newt had no such practice, and Fell had little practice with someone else being in their house. 

Anthony sent Newt upstairs to fetch things down for him while he talked in the kitchen. 

“Go… I don’t know. You need to _not_ be in the same room. I’m not kicking you out, but less hovering until we’re outside. That can’t be comfortable him walking into you. You’re worse than a cat winding round a leg.” 

“You have a cat?” Anthony startled at hearing another person’s voice and knocked over his cane with a clatter. 

“No. Just a… ghost.” He turned around slowly, hand on the countertop to keep him steady. 

“Sorry.” Newt came in and picked the cane up for him. “Must get spooky out here with the ghosts and the graveyard. Do we… have to go in there?” 

“No, everything we’re doing today is for living things. Graveyard I keep trimmed just enough for visitors. Otherwise the beasts have it. Think there’s a fox living there.” 

“I shouldn’t think you’d want them near, with the rabbits.” 

“I find footprints sometimes where they’ve sniffed about the edge of the fence at night, but that’s what the barn is for. I make sure they can’t get in. I don’t have to run them off entirely just for looking. Foxes eat rabbits. Natural they’d be interested.” 

“That probably doesn’t make you popular with the other farmers.” 

Anthony snorted. “Never was. Let’s get on with it so they’ll stop complaining about their favorite thing.The _smell_. Did you bring a change of clothes?” 

“Yes. And I picked up the coveralls and wellies you had ordered from the store as well.” 

“Those are yours but leave them here as long as you’re working for me. Believe me, you don’t want to ride in the car home with those. You can use shower before you go home so you don’t have to inflict that on whoever you live with.” 

“I’m not… not all the time. Wasn’t planning to stop by…” 

“Tracy said you had a girlfriend. You can tell me about her if you like.” 

“Well I’m not sure she’d mind much, she’s an archaeologist, so always putting dirty tools in the car anyway…” 

* * *

* * *

Newt was pleasant enough company, if a bit overly blunt sometimes. He sometimes had trouble carrying a conversation, but in part that was because he wasn’t quite used to farm work so was sometimes left panting. Anthony was frankly surprised he had returned after the first day that had left him filthy in places he wasn’t aware he could _get_ filthy. Must really need the work to put up with this sort of patched together odd jobs here and there. He’d only turned Anthony down once so far, but said it was a prior commitment and could next day. Which was soon enough. He wasn’t nearly as bad off as the first round of recovery. Much of it was just catching up on long delayed maintenance from that. 

“How are you old guys all this tough?” Newt was taking a break in the shade after Anthony had made him stuff his head under the hose before he passed out from heat stroke. 

“I’d say good clean living, but it’s a lie. You’ve seen what I do. Just sheer stubbornness mostly. “ He was still using the cane as his leg had settled into a low background ache that didn’t seem to be improving. Newt would be coming at least twice a week for the next month. Many things he could get delivered even way out here, so he didn’t need Newt to take him shopping at last. Just to help with actual farm work. He picked specific days, just to have a more stable schedule for both of them. It was peculiar having a human around. _Another_ human. Sometimes he didn’t feel entirely like one, so needed to remind himself to reach out and connect with others. He’d gotten particularly bad about it during his first recovery, hiding away like a wounded animal, sure he’d be hurt further. But he wasn’t a child. He could help himself too. And all anyone had done since his relapse was be kind to him, try and help him. 

Well except for Shadwell, but that had been true beforehand too. And there were gawkers who came by as well, wanting to see a story. Seeing a real, and wounded, person was not what they wanted. That made the story too real, too terrifying. They didn’t wish ill on him, but they wanted to be gone as soon as possible. But the people that actually knew him as a person with a name, with a whole life, they’d all tried to help him keep living. 

That was proving a little more difficult. Newt had driven him to the doctor after finishing the first round of antibiotics. He’d left with a prescription to take care of oral thrush probably caused by the antibiotics and a referral for an imaging session on his leg. 

His blood work had said he was overall healthy but was definitely fighting off _something_. Just needed to narrow it down. The imaging session would confirm if it was scar tissue or a tear and he just needed rest and physical therapy or if he had a deep infection they’d have to cut open. 

As promised, he talked to the empty house about it. He knew Fell was listening. 

“If it’s a deep infection, they’ll have to make a cut to open it back up, drain it all out. Maude looked right at me and said “don’t you dare try that at home”! The cheek! I wouldn’t have the first idea how to do that. Stitch up your own wounds a few times, get sassed forever. If we end up having to do it, I’ll explain it more to you before it happens, so you know what to expect.” 

“It wasn’t too bad. Things still hurt, but it’s not too bad. It’s consistent enough I can ignore it until the end of the day. It’s better than when I went the first time, but it’s not healed. It’s going to take longer than either of us like. 

Halloween’s coming up, that always increases the number of idiots that stop by. The hill figure that just got uncovered already increased the number of people calling. Find one spooky thing, might as well do a tour and see them all. There’s always at least one or two in those looky-loos that’s worth following up on. If they’re close enough, well, then I’ll see you soon. I’m being _good_. I’m not driving. No bicycle. Won’t see you until I get cleared for that. I’m doing what I need to do to get healthy enough to go hunting. I miss you. 

Just knowing you’re there helps. Even though I can’t see or hear you. I have… things I want to say to you. Not bad things! Don’t worry about that. But about us. What kind of future we can have together. But it’s not… fair to say them to you without getting to actually _discuss_ them with me. I never want you to feel that I’m talking at you instead of to you. With you. I mean, yes, sometimes I am talking _at_ you because you can’t currently respond, but I do always want to hear your response. I’m waiting. I care about what you have to say. Even if it’s just a snappy comeback to something I said two months ago. It’s worth waiting for. You’re worth waiting for.” 

He put on a comedy to watch, so he didn’t end up saying more than he should. It wouldn’t do to scare Fell. 

* * *

* * *

He hadn’t expected to see the kids again. Ever. They’d rung the house before heading over even. He’d limped out to the gate to meet them.  
“What you do to your leg?” 

“Something stupid. Your parents know you’re here?” 

“Of course, we called from the house.” The girl rolled her eyes at him. 

“No really, do all four sets of parents know you’re here?” 

“Yes, my mother packed us lunch. She sent egg sandwiches. There’s one in here for you too if you want it.” The one with the glasses pointed at a paper bag in the curly haired one’s bike basket. 

“Bargaining with the old devil?” 

“Mum said you’re just cranky because your leg hurts, so we should be extra polite.” from the grubby looking one. 

“Brian!” The girl glared at Brian, who held his hands and pulled up his shoulders in a ‘what’ maneuver. 

Anthony laughed at it. “I don’t think you were supposed to tell me that. Well, now I know one of your names. And I will admit I’m a bit of bad company right now because of the leg. It does hurt. Why don’t you lot tell me your names so I’m not pointing at you and going “oi, curly '' '' as he pointed at the curly haired one. 

“Adam” as he responded to pointing. 

“Pepper” from the girl 

An inaudible mutter followed by “but I prefer Wensley” 

”Alright Brian, Adam, Pepper, and Wensley” as he pointed at each in turn “What did you want to see?” 

“Graveyard!” 

““Can we pet your pig?” 

”Graveyard!” 

“Rabbits!”” 

“I think that was two for the graveyard. We can pet the pig on the way.” 

“But...rabbits.” from Wensley 

“At the end, I can sit then use the table to eat at.” The butchering table, but he’d probably skip mentioning that to the kids. He sucked air through his teeth to whistle. Snuff’s nose appeared over the edge of the low stone wall 

“One thing before we pet the pig. Never, ever, get in a field with an unrestrained pig you don’t know extremely well. He’s _my_ pig and even I need to treat him like he’s dangerous and can hurt me if I’m not paying attention.” 

“Is he a wild boar?” Adam looked intensely interested. Brian had now shoved his hands in pockets, despite having been one to ask about petting him. 

“He’s a boar, but not wild. He’s a Gloucester old spot. They’re usually very calm, easy keepers, but I’m one of the few people in the area with a boar since they’re a lot more dangerous to keep. Lot bigger than sows or barrows.” 

Snuff sat by the fence as it raised his head just high enough to see over the edge. The ears flopped over his eyes made him look friendly, but as they got closer the kids realized just how _big_ a boar actually was. 

“Pigs are very smart animals, very lovely, and very big. And have very large teeth. Snuff’s a sweet fellow most of the time, but he knows who is supposed to be here and who isn’t. He’s chased people before. Boars are a lot more aggressive than sows or barrows, which is the rest of what I have. Shouldn’t get in with them either, but they’re less likely to chase you.” 

“Is that how you got hurt?” 

“No, got a cut that got infected. You can pet him, but be careful not to put your hands in his mouth, that’s asking for trouble.” 

The kids crowded up against the wall to tentatively pet the pig. “He’s not soft at all!” from Brian. 

“Bristly. The rabbits are very soft though. I sell the furs along with the meat, so try to select for that too. You can pet them later.” 

“Most everyone round here has sheep.. Who don’t you?” 

“Sheep are more fragile than pigs. You can sometimes pasture them together, but it takes a bit more work than I can really put in by myself. My Da and Mum ran mostly sheep and raised a few pigs for themselves. Rabbits were a stipulation of the deed. Got to raise rabbits. Pigs and rabbits eventually went together better. Pigs tear up the pasture too much for the sheep, but they’ll eat rabbit droppings and I’ve got a near endless supply of those.” 

“Ewwwwwwwwww” It was a full on chorus of grossed out kids. 

“They’ll eat cattle manure too. And horse. Really just about anything. They’ll eat other pigs if you don’t keep them right..” 

“Gross!” 

“Wicked! “ 

“That doesn’t seem sanitary.” 

“You shouldn’t let them eat other pigs, that’s how you spread disease. Really shouldn’t feed them much meat at all. That’s also how things go wrong. But they get fed a lot of agricultural waste from other farms nearby if they don’t keep animals themselves. Stalks from other crops, damaged vegetables not fit for humans. That sort of thing.” 

“Why do you have to keep rabbits?” Wensley was laser focused on those rabbits. Maybe he’d let him hold Harry. He had to get him used to being picked up by strangers to be able to take him to the fair for showing, anyway. 

“It was one of the conditions on the deed for the land. Sometimes land comes with weird stipulations on it like that as part of a will or transfer. It kind of got ignored for awhile and my Da’s family wasn’t doing that, but nobody was around that was aware they were _supposed_ to. So Da moved here after he got out of the RAF and started raising rabbits. They thought it was funny, right up ‘til they realized it meant it was technically his now.” 

“That’s so WEIRD!” 

“Clever, really.” 

“Why would someone insist you raise rabbits?” 

“There used to be a breed of rabbit raised just in this area. Beautiful ginger orange things. I have a painting of one in the house. Came with the house. I think the original owner raised that breed, so wanted to make sure it survived. Da’s family didn’t keep up that bargain. Nobody else did either. I think the War took out the last of them, most likely. I’ve got different breeds now. Mostly for food and fur, so I’m just focused on having good healthy rabbits. Now the rabbits are here and that whole family is gone. Maybe they should have kept up their side of a deal with the dead..” Who had been sent on their way by him, for other reasons. 

“What, like a curse got them? A rabbit curse?” Adam was squinching up his nose at this. 

“Rabbit feet are supposed to be lucky, so maybe it made them _unlucky_.” Anthony waved his hands like he was delivering a magic trick. 

They gave him the jaded look of teens supremely unimpressed by an adult. 

“Alright, I need to work up a better ghost story if this place is gonna keep being called Hell.” 

“That was really quite rubbish.” from Wensley. 

“Maybe if there was a magician in the graveyard. So he put a spell on the place. You had to raise rabbits or he’d come back from the dead and get you!” from Adam. 

“And cut you in half!” from Brian. 

Everyone stared at him for a second. Brian continued. “Cause he’s a magician… so he saws people in half…?” 

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.” Adam nodded and the rest of the gang did too 

“That is a way better story than I came up with. Maybe I’ll tell the next batch of nosey kids that one.” 

“Why is it called Hell though?” 

“Because of who’s buried here. That I will tell you in the graveyard. But let’s wash up. Snuff rolls in… stuff.” The kids looked at the pig and then at their grubby hands. 

“Ewwwww.” Even Brian was eager to wash up. 

It was nice seeing the kids at the trough sink at the back of the barn. It always seemed too big for him by himself. He remembered being picked up to wash his hands when he was young. Sometimes they’d just plain dropped him in the trough when he was particularly filthy and the rain hadn’t been quite enough. They’d washed him this way for a long time before they realized it wasn’t the bathtub he was afraid of, but hot water. That fear had faded now after so many years, but for most of his childhood it had been a terror he couldn’t articulate. He remembered a conversation recovered from a dream. 

_Da runs a hand over his back “This looks like a burn scar...”_

_“Scald I think”_

_“No wonder he threw a fit at a bath.”_

_“But he’s fine if you dip him like a sheep.”_

_“I hope we’re not making him worse.”_

_“Lets you pick him up now, don’t he?”_

They’d been so _rough_ with him. Dunk him in freezing water and then go at him with a washcloth and towel ‘til he was pink and warm again. And he’d leaned into that sensation. Of being _touched_. Being handled like he was _strong_. He’d become strong. He’d trusted them more when they were firm with him than when they were tentative. When they hesitated, he’d picked up on their fear that he was broken, that they were broken. That none of them would ever get better. 

“Mister Anthony, sir?” He looked back at the kids. 

“Sorry, seeing you all reminded me of something. And don’t call me sir.” 

“You looked sad, but you were smiling too.” Pepper was carefully watching his face. 

“Sometimes it’s like that, when you miss someone that’s died. It’ll make more sense when you’re older.” 

“Everyone says that!” from Adam. 

“No, he’s right you know. I feel that way sometimes about my Uncle Ron.” Wensley nodded gravely. “I miss him, but when I think about him, I have nice memories of him.” 

Anthony echoed that nod. “It’s not that I don’t think it's worth explaining, it's just that some emotions are hard to explain until you’ve experienced certain things in life like losing someone. And sometimes they’re things you don’t want kids to understand until they’re older, because you know how bad they were. It’s knowledge you don’t wish on others because it _hurts_.” 

“Whoa.” Brian looked like he’d suddenly understood something he hadn’t had words for up this point. There was a brief flicker of some unnamed pain across his face before it was pushed away. Wensley just nodded slightly and touched Brian’s arm for a moment. 

“A lot of adults say that you’ll understand when you’re older about stuff they _should_ have told us about. Warned us about.” Pepper was giving him a hard look, trying to see through his glasses. 

“I agreed to talk with you, didn’t I? Tell you some things. Warn you. Come on to the graveyard then. But understand that we’re talking about people I knew.” It was slightly rough going in the graveyard as he hadn’t cut the grass since the spring, so it dragged at their legs. He headed towards the oldest stone, by the pond. 

“You said last time it wasn’t appropriate talk for children. Why? What happened to you?” Adam really did seem like he could see through Anthony’s glasses. He wasn’t sure he liked that. 

“You’ve got decent parents, probably. Other than them letting you come here. They probably said some things about me. But they love you., I hope.” The kids all nodded along with that. “But even if they’re great parents, there’s things you won’t like about them. Things they do wrong.” 

“Make me go to bed early sometimes.” from Adam. 

“Make me give my aunt a hug even when I don’t want to.” Brian wrinkled up his nose. 

“Won’t let me use the stove” from Wensley. 

Pepper was silent and the other three looked at her a moment, waiting. She shrugged. “My Mom’s great. The other one’s… they’re not around anymore, so it doesn’t matter. Good riddance.” 

“But do you feel like they’re trying to take care of you, even if they’re sometimes kind of bad at it?” 

“Yeah.” “Very much” Nods all around. 

“You listened to that podcast. They sure made it sound like I was terrified of what I’d seen in the murder house. Like I’d seen people die. I probably did. But Death doesn’t scare me. I wasn’t _scared_ silent. I didn’t know _how_ to talk. It’s because the ones that made me, I’m not even calling them my parents, were that bad at taking care of me. They never acted like they cared at all. Not in any real way. They hadn’t cared enough to talk to me, to give me words. I didn’t even have a _name_. 

“The government wasn’t even sure those _were_ my parents. That was a guess made months later, when the bodies finally got found. That that was where I’d come from. That was what had happened. That might not even be where I came from, but it was the story everyone agreed on. Kids that can’t speak and can barely walk don’t just come from _nowhere_. There had to be an explanation. The two had to be connected. There had to be a story tying it together so there was a clear villain here. Some evil that could be understood and banished. 

“And the story gets told and retold to make it better, more satisfying. Like the one you heard. There’s some truth there, but less _messy_. Still scary, but the right kind now. All the pieces fit together without loose ends. So there’s _rules_. Don’t do this and you’ll be _safe_. It’s why those stories always happen to a friend of a friend of a friend. Or a town not too far away but somewhere you’ve never been. Not _here_. Not where you can meet the person and see how messy it actually was. That there was no single reason for _any_ of it. That you did everything right, followed the rules and it still happened anyway. That pain and suffering and terror came into your life without permission. That there was nothing you could do to make it _stop_.” 

He realized he was panting slightly. He hadn’t meant to say all that. Hadn’t meant to scare them. But they’d asked. They hadn’t known what they were asking. Adults knew what to fear. Knew the rules. Also knew the rules were no guarantee but lied to themselves about it. Lied to kids about it. Otherwise how could they ever function? How could they ever be normal? So… someone _had_ to be at fault. And if there was no one else, then it was your fault. You became your own tormenter. You hadn’t followed _the rules_. What happened was _your_ fault. It made more sense to destroy yourself than to believe that sometimes suffering had no meaning, no cause, and there was no way to stop it from coming for you. 

“Are you alright?” Brian had been the one to ask. 

“Not really. Forty years on … still gets me sometimes. I got _better_. But I never got to be _normal_. Sometimes I can fake it better than others. Your parents probably try real hard to give you a normal life. A good one. Mine, the real ones, here in the graveyard, they weren’t normal either. And that was probably the best thing for me. They weren’t constantly disappointed I wasn’t normal. They were just excited I was getting _better_. 

“They were very broken people, for different reasons, but they understood how badly someone could be broken and still _live_ through it. Still have some kind of life afterward. Even if it was a struggle. They’d have been horrible parents for a normal kid. They had never even considered having a kid. No social worker today would have let them adopt me. Nobody would have let them try the things on me they did. There was no manual for how to fix me. So they just did their best. They tried the things that got _them_ through. Even if they were things you normally wouldn’t do with a child.” 

“Like what?” 

“The sink back there… when they first got me, they used to just dunk me when I got really dirty, like I was a sheep, then let me run off. Probably meant I got even dirtier a lot of times, but I couldn’t tell them why I was terrified of being cleaned. I didn’t know words for that. I still don’t know exactly what the ones that made me did. Or didn’t do. They clearly almost never talked to me. I was maybe 7 or 8, nobody actually knew. But I didn’t know any more words than a toddler.” 

“”Why didn’t anyone _do_ anything? Didn’t the school notice?” Wensley seemed sure that someone _should_ have. 

“Never got sent to school as there was no record I was ever _born_. I probably was born in that murder house. But nobody knew I existed. So nobody ever checked on me. First people outside there that even knew I existed were Mum and Da. Literally picked me up from the side of the road. They didn’t know what to do, but they knew what _not_ to do. They couldn’t just _leave_ me. 

“But nobody claimed me. I didn’t exist. I had come from nowhere and had nowhere to go, legally. I wasn’t a person yet, at least according to the government. So social services wasn’t sure what to do with me. There wasn’t anyone who wanted a child so broken. They were going to send me to an institution. I was probably… there were so many things _wrong_ with me. Really was the Wrong Boy. 

“They left me with Mum and Da while they tried to find somewhere, anywhere to put me. Neither of them wanted a child. It wasn’t something they ever _thought_ about. Not the done thing. They were the kind of people you took children _away_ from. But they’d both been thrown away and so had most of their friends. They understood that pain. I’m not sure who suggested they could just register me as a home birth as if I really was theirs. As if I’d come from here. As if they’d named me. As if they really were my parents. But they messed even that up. They absolutely couldn’t be my parents. Austen, that’s Da, put himself down as my father. He put Mum down as my mother, because Lee was vague enough nobody would check it was a woman’s name. Been causing me problems ever since.” 

“Were your parents gay or uh...your Mum…?”Brian looked like he’d regretted asking. 

Anthony stared at him for a second trying to parse out what he was getting at. 

“Oh, oh, that. Lee was his birth name. He just loved how uncomfortable it made everyone that he was “Mum”. He switched to a falsetto for a moment. “Oh Anthony, your Mum is coming to the panto, won’t it be nice to finally meet her. Maybe she’ll actually start coming to _meetings_.”” The kids snickered at that. Some people never changed. 

He dropped back to normal pitch. “And then _he_ turns up with a leather jacket, looking like he’s ready for a knife fight. Da was even worse. I’m not sure he owned clothes without a cigarette burn on them somewhere. Looking absolutely bored the whole time or just doing that thousand yard stare like he could see into your soul. They were _not_ very good at socializing with the other parents. 

“Sometimes they’d get told to leave. They shouldn’t be near _children_. They were going to _Hell_.” He’d heard much worse, but it didn’t bear repeating. “And sometimes Da would get in a shouting match about it. Then they really would get tossed out again. 

“So… that’s why this place got called Hell. It’s where they all went when they died. All their friends too, that got disowned and had no family plot to go to. Or family wouldn’t let their partner be buried there. Or their family wanted to put their dead name on the stone. Whole bunch of reasons they ended up here.” 

He looked around the cemetery. The grass was a bit overgrown at the moment, but he’d spent years planting perennial flowers, so it was a colorful sort of mess. A wild riot of color, full of life. All the larger animals were hiding, but the frogs were still calling in the pond and butterflies and moths fluttered between the dark stones. 

“This isn’t very spooky. You’re bad at scary stories.” Adam looked disappointed. 

“Sometimes truth’s just sad. All these people… got thrown out of every place they went. Mum and Da both got thrown out the military at the same time. How they both got so messed up, fighting in a bad war.” 

“I thought The War was against the Nazis? That’s good though. Fighting Nazis.” Adam’s face was squinched up, puzzling this out. 

“No, they weren’t that old. That was The War. The Big One. I think they fought in the Falklands. It’s the right time for it. Or someplace else that we never officially declared war on, but people still fought and died over. They never wanted to say. Just that it was a little, stupid war. They felt like it shouldn’t have messed them up. Like it wasn’t _real_ enough to have hurt them so badly. “They just said that they’d been in the RAF together. When I finally started learning names, I thought both their names were Raf for awhile because folks called them that. I called them all kinds of things that weren’t their names. Maybe because I hadn’t had one, proper names were weirdly hard for me to pick up. 

“Mostly I called them “sir”. _Everyone_ was sir. Every word ended in sir. Bit telling _that_ was what I knew. If you say anything, end it with sir. Absolutely mangled their names. Lee wasn’t so bad, was funny later, put poor Da! Chopped Austen all the way down to Auster or Hauster. Still feels weird to call them by their real names, even with them gone so long. They hadn’t wanted to be my Mum and Da, but they grew into the names.” He could feel prickle of tears behind glasses, but it wasn’t from pain. 

“Why is there a frog on the tombstone, isn’t it usually lambs?” Pepper was staring at the carved frog squatting on top of the tombstone, turned to face the carving on the neighboring stone. 

“Lambs are for child graves. None of those here thankfully. Da asked for the frog. He dug this pond by hand when they first moved here. He liked the sound of the frogs. Said it he wanted an animal too ‘cause Mum has the lizard on his.” 

“Why does he have a lizard on his gravestone?” He should probably clean the stone, the lizard was growing lichen again, giving it a multicolored appearance. 

“Because Lee was short for Leezard.” 

The kids all groaned at that. “That’s terrible!” “It wasn’t really short for lizard, was it?” 

“Nah, he was _terrible_ at jokes. He just had that one, so he’d use it on everyone.” He patted the stone. “Think he’d be proud I got to use it on you. All these years later and it's still just as bad.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT WAS A LOT.
> 
> next chapter, more about the present and how he's healed over time. Fun times with Tracy! No, like genuine actual fun.


	6. Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He visits with Tracy. Tracy returns the favor. Life is full of rituals and obligations.
> 
> Anthony also feels something is wrong. Something has him spooked.
> 
> He invites Fell to share a bed. No touching just... you could be anywhere in this room but I'd like you Somewhere specific... if you'd like
> 
> (oops, chapter count increases cause I split this on in half!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Leg wound is mentioned as being bandaged and having a drain in it  
> Anthony and Shadwell both have mobility issues related to injury  
> implied Anthony has used Tracy's services as a sex worker in the past, no details. No sex mentioned.

He couldn’t quite get his schedule lined up with Tracy’s for a few weeks. Start of school term always made everyone anxious for reassurance and her business would pick up. On _both_ sides. And she would be absolutely swamped on the medium side for Halloween, so he was glad to get fitted in. And seeing Shadwell limping down the stairs, had a suspicion why Tracy’s schedule had been so hard to line up. 

“Ye old devil, what are you doing here?” He thumped down the rest of the stairs and wobbled at the end, clutching the banister. He’d gone quite pale. He’d moved far too fast. 

“Newt brought me for tea.” 

“Well he’s taking me to an appointment! Newton!” Newt slid around Anthony to steady Shadwell. 

“Convenient he’s here right now. I think appointments are lined up just right. See you back about five then.” 

“I’ll not be leaving you alone to plot deviltry and debauchery.” 

“Yes you will, because you’re keeping the doctor waiting. Go on, shoo.” Tracy waved from the top of the stairs. 

“I’m not going and leaving you here with this old reprobate.” 

“Look who’s calling me _old_.” 

Shadwell lurched towards him and ended up hanging off Newt as his leg wobbled. Anthony pressed himself against the wall to let them get past. 

“Anthony!… be nice.” There was a familiar firmness in Tracy’s voice that he responded to. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He inclined his head towards Shadwell. “I hope they get to the bottom of what’s wrong with you.” 

Tracy clucked her tongue at him and gave him quite the look, but it was _perfectly_ polite. 

Newt managed to get Shadwell out the door with only a few more growls. 

“Oh now, you look even worse than last time love. You in _shorts_. What’s the world coming to?” 

“What I can wear without messing up the drain and bandages. I didn’t want to reschedule again. Gonna take me a little to get up there. But I’ll do it. It’s good to see you!” 

“Can I give you a hand?” She had started down the stairs to meet him 

“If you’ll take the cane up, I can get myself up, just going to look a bit silly doing it.” 

He leaned his weight on the bannister while she took his cane. He got himself turned around and sat on one of the bottom steps. He scooted his way up the stairs backwards, lifting off with hands and scooting up on bum. 

“Should have Mr. Shadwell try that, that went quite fast.” 

“Lots of practice makes it look easy. Hand up?” 

She helped him lever himself back up and let him lean on her coming into the flat. He repeated the trick getting himself down the little set of steps inside. She pulled him up again, but let him have the cane back to get himself to the table. 

“And you out there all by yourself, you poor dear. I’d have come out to see you if I knew you were worse.” The kettle clicked off and she went to go pour water into the pot. The rest of the tea service was already on the table. 

“Getting worse to get better. I actually _feel_ much better since the pain’s gone down. Newt’s been a big help. I can get myself around just fine at my own house. Just not allowed to do anything at all on the farm for a few days while this wound is actually open to finish draining. Don’t want to get anything else in there. Ordered so much curry, I’m going to be sick of all the leftovers.” 

“Can you really ever have too much curry?” 

“Can you have too much tea?” 

“No such thing.” 

“There you go then. It _is_ good to see you. I’ve been neglectful. Rude of me.” He carefully lowered himself into the chair. He patted his leg to to make sure his bandage was still dry. He’d doubled up the wrapping, but moving around might cause some leaking. 

“You’ve been dealing with your own problems. Wouldn’t hurt to call on the phone though.” It was only a mild rebuke. 

“I know. Talked for nearly half an hour just comparing schedules. I just know it's also your prime season coming up. You’ve got lots of real work to do in a short time.” 

“You’re always so sweet about it. Real work!” She gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Make a believer out of you yet.” 

“I live next to a graveyard. You’d think I’d have ghosts a plenty.” He never did, since Fell always saw any restless things on their way. There’d been a few over the years. But those wanderers were a welcome sight as Anthony’s brush with them meant Fell would be along quickly to deal with them. Often he had to fight them and made Anthony look away. Sometimes he managed to talk with them and just make them go. In either case, Anthony would get a few stolen hours afterward with Fell. 

“You take such good care of it though, they’ve no reason to be upset with you. You’ll know if you’ve irritated them.” She made the circuit round room tugging the curtains closed so there was just soft illumination. 

“I figure I can just talk with them and that’ll be fine. Works on everyone else.” 

“You’ve gotten smooth in your old age.” She finally came and got settled as he dug in pocket for a glasses case. He swapped the tinted pair out for the smaller, more fragile clear ones that few people even realized he owned. 

“I’m not that old. Just having a rough patch.” 

“Lot of that is going around. Something has been stirred up.” 

“Shadwell yell at a ghost maybe?” 

“Oh no, he’d try and headbutt one.” 

Anthony laughed at that. “He would, wouldn’t he. He ever tell you what happened?” 

“Said it was an old wound opened back up. So the curse might not be far off.” 

“Oh.” 

“Anthony… you know something. Do tell.” He always forgot how much easier he was to read without the tinted lenses. And yet had switched to them during visits for years anyway. 

“Don’t be using your wiles on me. You taught me how to be charming, I can see you doing it.” 

She reached across the table and gave him a pat. “You turned out so nicely too.” 

“I’m anything but nice! If you knew…” 

“Knew what?” and she grinned at him as she poured the tea, very deliberately fluttered lashes at him so he’d see the charm. 

He laughed at it. “No fair making me laugh! I’m immune to all your other tricks. But you know my weakness.” 

“I’m very observant. You were lying about how you got hurt when you were at the doctor. So you do know something. I can see that. The two of you aren’t fighting again?” 

“No. Long past that. But it is sort of related. I just don’t want you to think differently about me. Or Shadwell. Not sure what you see in him, but it’s _something_. Has Shadwell ever told you why we don’t get on?” 

“Not exactly. I do know you had some kind of physical fight. He gets all puffed up and huffs about over it. I get the impression he lost and wants the illusion he’d win a rematch.” 

“He did lose. Didn’t know it was him ‘til years later. Perils of staying in the same place your whole life. Haunted by things that happened decades again.” 

“Which was…” She was lazily stirring tea, blew on it slightly to get just the perfect temperature. 

“It was impulsive. I’m not sorry for it. I’m… I’m almost glad. To know what I was _like_. That I could do something like that.” 

She sipped her tea and let him get uncomfortable with the silence. It was an obnoxiously effective technique since he spent so much time talking to Fell, filling up that silence with words. 

“I… stabbed him in the leg with a pitchfork.” 

“You what?” She put the cup down with a clatter. 

“He was trying to set my barn on fire! I grabbed it and stabbed him in the leg. I didn’t know who he was then. I never looked for the arsonist because I figured he’d _died_.” 

“No wonder he’s always so wound up then. Like being stalked by his own personal demon, checking up on his behavior. Ready to stab him again.” She made a teasing hand motion. 

“I’m _probably_ not going to stab him again. We’re one functional human between us right now. Be a very sad fight.” 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

“Absolutely not.” He tapped the side of nose “Can’t lie about things you don’t know about. Let’s just go with it was legitimate business.” 

“Are people bothering you again? 

“Can more than take care of myself. Just a bit tired of people turning up at odd hours to gawk is all. Going to be extra bad this Halloween most likely. Oh, hey, give me some of your cards while I’m here. I’ll send people your way.” 

“I’m near full up already, might add an extra day to the schedule. Just not take any new clients for relaxation. Knees aren’t what they used to be. Can always make special arrangements for old friends.” 

“Been a long time. Turned out alright.” 

“That you did. Now what else have you got going on in your life?” 

“Same old things. Quiet life for me. No, I’m not seeing anyone. Still. “ It was true-ish. Fell wasn’t currently _visible_. Tracy had given up years ago trying to wheedle out of him who he was seeing. She understood having to keep that sort of thing hidden. But she assumed it was a human secret. 

“It’s all boring health things beside that. Don’t think you much want to hear that since you’ve got plenty going on. How are you doing?” 

“Just worried about Shadwell. Bit stressful is all. He’s much more irritable.” 

“That why you arranged for him to be out?” 

“Caught that did you. You always were a clever one. Sitting about and waiting is tiring and it’s nice to have you by meantime so I’m just focused on having a nice visit. Take care of myself for a bit.” 

“I strangely had a similar conversation with someone else about that recently.” She sipped ta very pointedly at him, eyebrows raised. “Was a hard conversation. So I’m glad to hear you’re taking care of yourself. Hard to remember that sometimes. I know you’re always busy dealing with people for your work, so I understand the need for quiet alone time to recharge. I don’t want you to feel like a visit is an obligation.” 

“Oh you know you don’t count as _people_ anymore. Having you by to tell me about new things is a delight. Full my cup right up with cheer, you grumpy old thing.” 

“I’m not sure whether to object to being called grumpy or the implication I’m cheerful.” 

“You can be both. You’re complicated. I’ll give you a ring next time Shadwell has an appointment, this really has picked me right up.” 

“That’ll give Shadwell something to be really riled about, be convinced we’re engaged in some kind of conspiracy.” 

“Summoning the devil over for witch’s sabbath perhaps. That gives me an idea, how’d you like to come by for a seance on Halloween? None of the regulars come by, it's almost all Americans, looking for some kind of authentic old world terror. Let you scare some folks for old time’s sake.” 

“And boost your reputation. Hmmm, maybe. I just don’t want any trouble at home and I’ve had more people about. Let me think about it. See if Newt’s available to house sit for the evening. Chase off anyone lurking about. He’s so normal looking they’ll leave in disappointment. He won’t have to even do anything. Just don’t want any trouble with someone deciding to do something stupid in the graveyard. It’s _Hell_ after all. Usually just dumb kids… just something feels different this year. Can’t quite tell. Darker. Like there really is some curse. I don’t care for coincidences.” He ran his hand over his leg 

“I hope it’s nothing and you’re just down over feeling old. Not so bad once you get used to it.” 

“But you’re a lovely young lady.” 

“Flatterer. But tell me more.” She gave him a lovely smile, not flirting, just pleased. 

“Haven’t seen that dress before. Suits you. Coordinating with eye shadow is nice. You didn’t have to go to trouble for me visiting though.” 

“It's not for you, it's for me. And thank you for noticing.” 

“I do try. Let me make the next pot, for old times sake. Make sure I’m still up to your standards. Especially if you’re gonna have me over for a seance to _command_ me.” 

“Just you tell me if you can’t manage to carry it that far. Be honest.” 

“I’m always honest. I’m just also a good liar.” 

“You’re a rubbish liar. You’re just too charming for everyone's good.” 

“Who’s to blame for that?” 

They had a lovely time and he made sure to get downstairs and be ready to go by the time Newt got back. He’d had plenty of practice getting himself in and out of the ridiculous little car by now, so Newt could focus on getting Shadwell back up the stairs. 

He looked frazzled by the time he got back. 

“Did you have any plans for Halloween?” 

* * *

* * *

It turned out Newt _did_ have plans for Halloween, or at least his girlfriend did. He seemed a little baffled by them, but Americans were much more enthusiastic about Halloween. It sounded like a multiday affair with all kinds of rituals. Apparently there was quite a bit of baking involved and they’d needed to grow specific flowers as well. It all seemed very excessive. But that was Americans for you. 

Anthony couldn’t shake that sense of unease that something was going on. Something had shifted. Maybe it was just all the extra people stopping by. Someone online had linked together the uncovered hill figure with him so he’d had a parade of people by the house. He was getting a bit tired of it. 

The little group of goths had been polite and he’d actually given them a extensive tour of the cemetery. They’d stood outside the gate and found a name via the internet, but had apparently already known why so many people had been buried in this out of the way spot. They had brought flowers. Deep wine colored things with intricate folded blooms. Dahlias. He’d asked why they’d chosen those and one that was all elbows had shyly admitted to growing them. He’d spent most the afternoon talking with them about each of the people buried here and how he knew them. They’d petted the rabbits but bought none. He considered them a rare group of pleasant visitors. 

This linking together had attracted a weirder bunch than usual and he was tired of them. Many of them were quite rude about his insistence on no cameras. He would not invite those into his home where they could bother Fell. A few times more bothersome people abruptly left after not heeding that warning. They’d just been consumed with full body shudders until they outright bolted. 

“Thanks. But don’t do that if it hurts you. I can shoo them off with words. And the hose if necessary.” 

He marked down a few for later stalking. Ones that had seemed too keen to see him kill and been disappointed with the speed. He was glad for his glasses at one who’d watched with his hands in his pockets and his fingers moving beneath the fabric. He’d gotten the contact info for that one, in case he reconsidered later about talking about the older murder house. Oh, they’d talk eventually... 

That sense of unease came and went. He felt like something was going on. Like he could smell some change in the air. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone here for Halloween. It had been years since someone tried something stupid there, but his leg throbbed. 

He talked to the empty house about what to do. 

“Something's not right. I feel like we’re being watched. I don’t know if we actually are, but something feels… wrong. Like there’s a shadow here that’s not me. I don’t… I know you’re here. I do. I’m just spooked for once and would rather head things off with something fake. I’m going to invite Tracy to do her Halloween show here, play along with that. Gets me company. Puts a bunch of people here that night. Invite eyes over so there’s already something happening. Disrupt whatever is going on. It’s your home too. I know you can defend it to an extent, defend me, but this feels… this has me spooked. If you hate the whole idea, touch me and let me know you disagree.” The house was just as silent as usual. 

“Just in case you aren’t here, I’ll ask you again at bedtime. I want you to have a chance to say no to inviting someone in you don’t like. You get a say. It’s your home too.” 

No objection was made. 

* * *

* * *

He ordered a new bed and had that delivered. Considerably bigger than the old one. Newt helped him set it up. “This seems huge for just you.” 

“Been sprawled out with the leg, the old one is turning out to be too narrow. Think I’ll heal up better if I can stretch all the way out.” It’s a blatant lie. He’s been curling in tight at night. He invited Fell up to his room. This is new. He can’t chance flinging an arm or leg out of bed and hitting him. It’s made him burrito himself inside the blankets. He wants Fell as close as possible. 

He buys brand new sheets and a heavy duvet. He’s ordered a great big body pillow as well. He settles into the big new bed with the pillow down the middle. He puts on an audiobook to sleep to. 

“That’s your side.” He thumped the pillow that divides the bed, rolled over dramatically so his arm and leg are slung over it, but not actually touching the bed. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. Just be… be nice having you close.” 

His dreams are stranger than usual but he sleeps better than he has in months. 

* * *

* * *

Tracy came for Halloween to have her seance. Two in fact, as demand had been high enough. One for before tea during the day, one for after dark. He had Newt help him clean up the graveyard beforehand to make sure the paths are trimmed down. Don’t want someone, including him, stumbling in the dark. He left it wild enough to give the illusion of overgrowth. They’re city people, true overgrowth would be terrifying. This is just enough to be spooky. 

He took down the sign on the gate so as not to tip off visitors he’s in on the game. He played his part well, sitting in on the daytime seance. He’d been to many of them when he was first with Fell. Trying to understand how to speak with him. This doesn’t work. Not on Fell. It’s cloudy enough it doesn’t hurt when he takes his glasses off on cue. Everyone felt they got their money’s worth. 

He and Tracy had afternoon tea. She’d brought scones with her. They’re very good. He’ll have to get these again to have with Fell. They’re seated in the parlor so Anthony can rest on the couch with his legs up. 

“Didn’t know you’d turned into such a reader.” They’re Fell’s choices. He likes classics since modern things will so often call back to stories that have stood the test of time. It makes understanding contemporary literature easier to have that foundation. Telly as well. He’d left the set on during the seance tuned to a monster movie marathon since he wasn’t sure if Fell wanted to risk being seen. Tracy hadn’t commented on that when they’d come in, just the books. 

“Just a few pages each day. I listen to more. Easier on the eyes.” 

“How are you getting on, I know you said you get stiffer by the end of the day.” 

“I don’t think any worse than your knees.” They had a laugh at that. “So long as you aren’t expecting me to go vaulting the tombstones or run anywhere, I think we’re fine for tonight. Wound’s all closed up again finally, but if I pop the stitches, doctor will have my hide. I’d be gentlemanly and offer you my bed, but I think I’ll need it.” He doesn’t want to explain the set up either. “I do appreciate you staying over. Saw right through me saying I was worried about you riding home on the scooter.” 

“You’re both a good liar and a terrible one all at once. This health scare has you on edge. Maybe you should look at getting a roommate. Someone out here full time.” 

He almost says something. From the way Tracy sipped her tea and looked at the books that aren’t his, he’s said something anyway. He sighed. 

“It's not just this. Something… something feels spooky. Like I’m being watched.” 

“Newt said something about you having a ghost.” 

“I know what ghosts are like. This is… I don’t know. That’s the part I really dislike. I can’t decide if it's something very human and boring where I should be worried about sabotage on the farm or something actually supernatural.” 

She raised her eyebrows at him. “An expert on ghosts now. Have you been lying to me this whole time?” 

“I never said I didn’t think there were ghosts and things. I just said I didn’t think you called them for seances. It’s all a show. You’re too clever to call something dangerous to you for _entertainment_.” 

“And for the real thing?” 

“Don’t call whatever this is. It’s not just nerves either. I’m not afraid of dying.” Fell will be there. What will happen then is… uncertain. But he doesn’t fear it. Fell might. 

“Others would miss you when you’re gone. “ 

“I know that. I’m not eager for it either. I’m taking good care of myself.” He sniffs and tilts his chin up. “Getting better every day. Best I’ve ever done. How’s Shadwell been?” 

“Lost some weight, poor thing. Those antibiotics did a number on his stomach but his leg’s finally all better. He’s not so keen on the doctor telling him what to eat. Yogurt is the _devil_.” 

“Displaced by a dairy product! I really have fallen.” 

“Now, now you did a lovely job. Gave everyone quite the fright. Maybe don’t squinch your nose so much, you look too cute.” 

He huffs at that. “Any other notes for this evening?” 

“You had enough of a break that you’re ready to walk through that?” 

“Yes ma'am, I am at your command.” 

* * *

* * *

It was odd having a human in the house with him at night. Even though she was downstairs on the couch, he had trouble getting to sleep. Later, the sound of a toilet flushing startled him awake. Footsteps. He panicked for a moment before he remembered Tracy stayed over. He should probably check on her. Is that what he’s supposed to do? Or ignore her after saying goodnight? He never stayed over at someone else’s house. He’d always gone home. He doesn’t know the protocol. He realized he needs to get up and pee anyway now that he’s awake. Afterward he stoods at the top of stairs, listening to the sound of someone moving in the kitchen. He didn’t know how to feel. 

“Tracy?” He kept his voice low. 

She appeared at the base of the stairs. “Did I wake you?” 

“No. Yes. I had to get up then anyway. Should I come down?” 

“Do you want to?” He wants to do what’s right. 

“What do normal people do?” His voice sounds so much younger and uncertain, and he can see Tracy start to slip on a polite mask. He realized what he asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean.. That’s rude. I just… I’m sorry. I’ve never done this. Having guests at night.” 

Her voice softens, the mask stays off. “You’re doing fine. You said goodnight and that was all you were supposed to do ‘til morning. I know it seems awkward, but everything seems strange when said in the middle of the night. That’s the normal part. There’s no ritual to it ‘til you make one with someone. I normally wake up in the middle of the night for a little bit. Have a cup of herbal tea. Use the loo again. Go back to bed and sleep through just fine. I didn’t expect company.” 

“I should go back to bed then. Leave you to it. S’important.” 

“It's your house, you can come down and have a cup with me and talk if you want. Or go right back to bed. If that’s normal. There’s no obligation expected at this hour. You told me to make myself at home, and I took care of myself.” 

“Just don’t want to be rude is all.” 

“You did fine. Now go to bed.” 

“I’m going. Goodnight again.” 

He settled back into bed. He has no idea what’s happening in his audiobook. It doesn’t matter. Voices are always welcome in the house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear from the word count it looks like I cut nothing, at all, but the original outline had included a scene about Anthony and Tracy's past interaction which I didn't write. You can see the end result here where he's clearly very comfortable with her.  
> so unwritten scene was about realizing his life was so wildly abnormal he just never got the social scripts most people did. Got some downright BAD ones as well. She couldn't help him with Fell as a medium, but could on the "discipline" side. These social interactions were traumatic for me, I want to redo them, but have the other person tell me what I did wrong clearly and also have the option to just *stop* the whole thing dead and not have to suffer through it. With a side of "I know I'm not the one in power in this relationship, how do I not have this turn really, really, really bad?"  
> it didn't QUITE fit in with tone of rest of piece and I didn't want anymore flash backs, so you get an author note instead.
> 
> Also, I love the There Was Only One Bed trope. at least an incorporeal partner can't steal all the blankets.


	7. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony is strong enough to kill again. He's eager to see Fell. But when he kills... Fell never comes and he's left to try to do his job instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific warnings:  
> There's a murder again. It's Eric.  
> Anthony describes himself as a monster  
> His victims are described with dehumanizing language via a comparison to a fatally wounded animal, as if it is euthanasia rather than murder  
> Murder scene includes- throat slash, ear removal, partial scalping  
> Post-mortem body mutilation including slicing open of chest and removal of genitals  
> Threatens to kill Fell

October had been full of visitors interested in the eerie and occult that had made a day of it, going around to all the spooky sites. He’d been a disappointing novelty to most of those. Someone even said he looked like their Dad! He’d flashed his eyes at that one with a wink and wished their father well. The evening with Tracy had marked the end of that sort of visitor. 

The oppressive feeling of being watched had also lifted. Maybe it had just been a combination of pain, anxiety, and all the people gawking at him. But the feeling of something being _wrong_ had not entirely left him. He needed to listen to that instinct without being overwhelmed by it again. 

November brought more regular customers than visitors. It is a familiar routine. It’s a busy time for him as people stop by to get chestnuts and to place meat orders for Christmas He isn’t quite sure he _needs_ Newt’s help, he could get by without it, but he can shift off some tasks that are a bit more tiring or involve repetitive motions he’s been warned about not overdoing. This time he’ll do the recovery _right_. 

He asked Newt how he feels about helping him with butchering the pigs, or if he thought that would be too much. “Maybe I'll just stay with Ana that day, if you don’t mind.” 

“That’s why I asked and didn’t presume. You’ve never seen me do the rabbits either. Did you want to?” 

“I probably should… but I don’t want to.” 

“S’alright. Different jobs for different folks. It’s hard to raise something to kill it. But your food comes from somewhere. Do you want to know which ones?” 

“I… is it weird to say goodbye?” 

“Nah, go give them a good scratch and pats. A happy pig is a tasty pig.” 

“That didn’t make it better.” 

He didn't have Newt do much actual work that day. Mostly he just had him check over the barrows, scratch them and make sure they were clean and healthy before marking them ready for slaughter. Newt still seemed surprised when he next came and found them gone. 

* * *

* * *

The doctor had finally cleared him on the infection. His pain was no longer a constant presence. He still sometimes hurt at night, but it was gone in the morning. He had driven himself to the last few appointments where he’d been poked and swabbed in too many places to count and even had a spinal tap just in case it had spread that deep. The ache from that had not been as bad as the worry that it might have and it would be that much longer ‘til he saw Fell. That he was infection free was shared with a silent house. Now it was just a matter of regaining his full strength. The doctor gave him a strict exercise routine to follow to build back up before riding his bicycle places. Then he’d be ready again. He’d taken good care of himself. There was nothing for Fell to worry about. He was as healthy as he’d been in a long time. The house was quiet, but it was a companionable silence. 

His health had improved enough that he started watching for opportunities. There are still ones like the earlier visitors, who wished to see death. They buy their time to speak with him, to see him at work. They walk away with their meat. Death is never far away, but it is controlled, tamed. _He lived_. 

A few he talked with longer. They cannot watch him, but they want that reassurance that something comes after. All the death and cruelty fades away with time. He is as normal as he probably _could_ be. He looks like he healed. He is physically intact and talking with them, but they can recognize that even now some things still pain him. Some are disappointed that ‘normal’ may never be an option. Some seem freed by this knowledge that scars might never completely fade, but they don’t prevent him from living in his own way. 

It is the ones that wish to prolong the process that he pays attention to. There is no terror or disgust there, only an _excitement_ he does not understand. 

He likes people. Sometimes in spite of himself. They have often been cruel to him. He is sometimes angry at people. Sometimes wishes ill on them. He understands that kind of desire to hurt others who are hurting you. He has been on the receiving end when he was careless, hurting others without meaning to. He has worked hard at not being careless. His own outbursts have faded with time and with tending to his own healing. He’s better than he was. 

But he does not understand those that want to deal with their life by finding their _pleasure_ in making others suffer. There’s ways to deal with that where everyone leaves satisfied. Turning those desires on something that can’t talk with you as an equal… that is what often moves people from having his attention to being a target. 

Something about those he eventually kills is fundamentally _wrong_ , like a boar with a tusk twisted back on itself and starting to grow into its face. It will grow through the brain eventually. It will be a horrible death. Was this fatal flaw written into their nature from the start? Was it some untended wound that went wildly wrong in its attempt at healing? Perhaps it could be fixed with time and gentleness and patience. He doesn’t have the skills for that. He _can_ kill. That’s what he can do. Send them to Fell early. Or perhaps just on time. Perhaps Fell’s soft hands on them and kind voice are what they truly need to be able to start anew, wherever if is Fell sends them. 

He will see Fell like that one day as well. For now, everyone he kills brings him close to Fell for a time. It’s grown longer over the years. He’s grown better at preparing people for Fell. If he hadn’t been able to see him at work… he would still probably have killed. But wouldn’t have known what he _should_ do. 

He takes this seriously. He plans things out carefully. It was the perfect time for killing. Just before the Christmas break. No one would miss this man until next year. He’d spoken with him a few times about his _interests_. He always wanted more from Anthony about the murder house. What had he seen? How had it _hurt_ him? He’d agreed to meet him here, outside the fence to go exploring. Anthony had said he knew how to disable the cameras. That had been just enough bait to call him here. No one was expecting this man home for Christmas. He would be what let him spend Christmas with Fell. 

He’d planned to disable the cameras ahead of the other man getting here, but wasn’t sure he would even come at this point. There’d been a strange freezing fog yesterday. Everything was entombed in ice as the fog froze to every surface. He’d given up on both the car and the bicycle and strapped on the ice cleats he’d bought for that unseasonable winter three years ago to finish getting up the low rise to the house. It had been a long and slippery walk but he felt invigorated by it. He felt no pain in his leg. All the strange twists and turns from having to constantly catch his balance should be setting it off and he felt nothing but the warmth of exertion. He’d unbuttoned his long coat by the time he got there and thrown it over his shoulder. 

The cameras didn’t even need disabling as the ice had taken care of that, completely coating the lenses so there would be nothing but white blurs. He heard the roar of the engine and wheels spinning trying to get up here before looking down the road to see the man cursing at his inability to get here. He’d gunned the engine, trusting that the computers would take care of it all. But they’re only as smart as the operator. This was a man who so longed for destruction, he has come to meet a serial killer at a site of a mass murder rather than go visit family or friends for the holidays. He has made bad _choices_. 

Anthony waved at him and crab walked down the rise of the hill. 

“Give up, you’re not getting it up here. You’ll have to walk.” 

“Where’s yours?” 

“Down the hill aways. I walked the rest.” 

“Fuck. Well at least cops won’t come up here if there’s an alarm or something.” 

“Sure won’t.” 

Anthony offered his arm to steady him as he slid across the pavement. It was better once they’re on grass and leaves. The warmth of the ground and the uneven surface means the ice cannot become a giant sheet. 

“There’s an ash tree down we can climb along to get in.” 

He let the other man get ahead of him. He was eager to get to the house, which was a collapsing ruin at this point. No one wants to live here. He'd looked up who had bought it. Some conglomerate in one of the various banking crises. They were willing to pay to have cameras here to keep people off, let the story die. Eventually the land price will improve and they will be able to build a housing complex here without it being nicknamed something like “Murder Acres” or “Blood Bunagalows”. He was about to ruin things for a bank. 

He could see clearly where to strike at this man. He’s panting slightly. It’s not exertion but sheer excitement at the prospect of death. At standing somewhere that something truly horrible happened. In reveling in that in front of the one who it happened to. That was what had drawn Anthony to him in particular as a target. His excitement over how this made Anthony feel to rehash it. Was he scared? Did it make him feel like a defenseless little boy to relive this? No. it made him feel like a _monster_. A strong and powerful monster who had chosen to spend most of the year living as a man. Now though… 

He had never been back to the house. He was not sure he wanted to even now. This was where he came from. Would it feel like some sort of completion to return? No. No, it felt like going backwards. He made his decision then and struck quickly. 

“Hey…” A hand on the other man’s arm so he turned his head towards him. It was the opposite of the direction he should have turned. A fake out. His neck was curved away from Anthony and he struck. He raked the knife up the side of his throat rather than trying to go straight through it. Up along the trachea feeling the blade skip along the ridges without digging in, even as it peeled away skin and flayed open the big neck vessels. 

The knife tip sank into the meat under the line of the jaw. He kept the stroke going up, drawing the tip along the line of the mandible going up towards the ear. He sliced most of the ear off and much of the scalp. It was such a huge and sudden rupture that the man had barely enough time to smash a hand to his throat to touch the wound before he was already collapsing to his knees. He’d been almost hyperventilating in excitement already, so it's even faster than usual, his brain already half starved for air. 

He was looking up at Anthony with confusion and a tinge of wonderment. He pulled the hand away from his throat, looking at the blood, finally, experiencing that horror he had so desired. He choked out “what the fuck?” before collapsing sideways. 

He bleeds out within a few minutes. Anthony has had many people to try this maneuver on but this is the fastest he has ever seen someone collapse. Possibly it is the cold and exertion. Now Anthony is the one panting slightly. Fell will be here as soon as the man is dead. He focuses. Calm. He cleans off the blade on the man’s coat. 

He waits. 

And waits 

And waits. 

\- 

\- 

\- 

\- 

The man was definitely dead. He felt a building sense of dread now. Fell should be here. Fell should be taking care of this. Splitting him open and letting him free like he’d done every other time. It is an awesome sight, in the oldest sense of it, something that is full of both dread and reverence at the same time. Fell’s hands are sure and terrifying and gentle in what they do. He’s never been on the receiving end of that touch. But he can get some sense of being close to something terrifying and powerful yet so carefully gentle when he feeds him. This may be feeding him too. And he had not come. 

He can feel that building dread in his chest. He’d pushed down his sense of something being wrong while he was preparing, but it all comes roaring back now. 

“Fell! Where are you?” 

He takes his glasses off, hoping to see some glimpse of Fell as a blur in his compromised eyes. Everything is too bright, covered in a glittering layer of _wrongness_. Weather that shouldn’t be. Weather he’s never experienced in all his years here. He is _alone_ in a way he hasn’t been in decades. 

“FELL!” 

Nothing except the sound of another tree collapsing amid a clatter of ice. He can hear bits of it falling off the trees. Nothing is here to protect him from this rain of ice shards 

“Why can’t he find me?” With as cold as it is, he should be surrounded by a cloud from his panicked breathing but there’s _nothing_. 

He put his glasses back on and can _see_. It had grown easier over the years to see exactly where to strike at someone. What points he needed to cut to take them down quickly, what would make Fell’s job easy. So even though they had not expected to die, the transition was swift, clean. It is still painful. 

He looks at his own hand and feels a familiar pressure on his skin, pushing his hands into the right movements. Just here, across the base of his pinky. He is drawing the knife around his own hand before he even thinks it through, only stopping when he realizes if he goes all the way around, the skin will all die and peel off like part of a glove. The knife is sharp and terribly cold. It barely hurt. The blood is bright against his flesh, the color seeming wrong somehow. Too bright, like it's burning with an inner glow. 

It extends to the blade as well. It’s not so bright as Fell’s but there’s some strange _otherness_ to the blood on the knife, as if it is eating away the blade into some other place. 

It’s really too small a knife to cut through all the layers of the body with the ease Fell does. He makes it seem effortless, precise. This is going to be anything but. And yet he feels he needs to do this. 

He bends over the body and rests the knife over the throat. Blood drips off his wounded hand onto the corpse. It fades slightly where it falls, as if it is opening up the path to somewhere else. He rubs his hand along the length of the chest, from groin to throat. The pain of the fabric rubbing against the edges of the wound is intense and his vision narrows. He makes a motion to start the cut, tentative, worried. No, he needs to do this cleanly, with power. With _purpose_. 

He makes one long cut down the body with a knife whose blade has gone missing from physical reality, but cuts now through things unseen. One long sure cut all the way from throat to groin, peeling back that first layer of clothes. Then a cut down through skin. That is somehow easier than the clothes. Another stroke through muscle now, going down lower, scooping the entire contents of his groin out and away. It seems more important to remove the reproductive organs than the guts somehow. It’s not like cleaning an animal at all. He is not trying to preserve its integrity, to make something of it. He is annihilating something that holds a person. 

The bones will be next. He’s seen Fell do this. This is the complicated part. Getting through that last layer. There’s many movements involved. Not just a simple cut. It's not actually to break the bones at all, but to tear away the whole shell of the body holding the contents here. Fell’s never told him what he did. Why he does it. There’s a familiar rhythm to it, but he doesn’t know why it's different every time. 

He can see the chest shudder beneath his hesitating hand as if it will draw in another breath, heave this whole ruined mass back into the land of the living. He needs to get to the lungs to remove that last breath. Not the heart or brain where people usually say the soul lives. That is not why. That last chance to communicate is held in those lungs. 

He needs to move quickly. He guesses at the pattern. He hopes he’s right. This is an awkward tool for it, he’s never used a knife this way. He writes the man’s name across his sternum hoping that is the key. Eric Ericson. He can feel something give, but it's not quite right. It’s _close_. It's that same closeness of Fell’s name. Close enough to call, not close enough to command. 

It was with a K! He corrects his pattern, retracing his strokes. That is enough to let him in and there is no obstacle now. He reaches in and feels … fur? 

He strokes along it. He’s surprised at how _soft_ it all seems. No wonder Fell’s hands look so gentle. The power to pull all these layers away and yet be so very careful with the contents. Fur may be soft but it is designed to keep a harsh world out, keep that living heat in its owner. He could rip this away too, but it feels wrong. This is something that belongs with them. To take with them wherever it is they will go. 

He’s not sure what to do next. Fell usually talks to them. He can’t hear the others, just Fell. Sometimes he argues. Sometimes he pleads. Often he just tells them they’re dead. They should go now. He doesn’t tell them where. Just that they should. Sometimes it takes awhile and some firmness. Sometimes it becomes a command. Anthony has never been haunted. Really if anyone should be, it's him. Perhaps that is why Fell sometimes tells him to turn away, so he can MAKE someone go. He doesn’t think he can do that. He has neither the power nor knowledge. He can just talk. 

“You should go. Where you always wanted to be. You are free of all burdens. There’s no more pain. No more worry. Go free. Become whatever it is you are meant to be.” 

He can feel something move, an explosive outward movement. It knocks the wind out of him as if he’d been kicked. He draws in a breath, and tastes something simultaneously rank and earthy on his tongue. That smell of having hit something with the deep plow that has lain beneath the snow and mud all winter, slowly rotting where the flies and scavengers couldn’t get at it. Now it's been exposed, its stinking rotten hair thick with the scent of decay as it returns to the earth. Now that it can breathe again, it will be gone soon. 

“Go on. I know this is a surprise. But _go_. Take none of your burdens with you. Go out into the world wherever you belong.” 

“You killed me!” He can see the outline of the person now, face contorted in anger. 

“Yeah. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I could say something about how you might be better off, but I don’t know that. But you didn’t choose friends or family. You said no one would mind you being gone for the holiday, that no one would miss you. I don’t know if that’s true. But you saw other people celebrating and connecting with people, even if it was a shallow way brought on by a holiday, and you wanted to see _death_. And now you have.” 

“Are you Death?” 

“Nah… I’m filling in.” 

“I got the holiday temp for _Death_?” 

“Not exactly. You got a serial killer. So I’m… death adjacent? Assistant death manager? Killed _a lot_ of people. Never actually had to cut someone free after killing them before. You’re my first.” 

“So I’m _special._ ” There was a sense of satisfaction there. Some _rightness_ that Anthony recognized in having a _purpose._ Even if it was a purpose for someone else. 

“Yes. I hope I did a good job and it was what you were expecting. I’m definitely going to remember this. But you should _go_. I actually don’t know what’s out there. You’ll know more than me.” He made a shooing motion with his hands that he’d used many times on animals and children. Not meant to frighten, just gentle encouragement to move along. “ Go and see.” 

There was a sudden sense of absence.. Whatever presence had been there was gone. Off to… he didn’t know. Possibly wherever Fell was. He hoped not. He wanted Fell back. Death couldn’t… die? Could he? Had all that fuss actually been him saying goodbye? That he’d been the one dying? 

No. Anthony had genuinely _been_ sick. Fell was _fine_. He might just have gotten some idea about leaving Anthony to a normal life. He looked at his hand where he’d cut himself. It was no longer bleeding. It was just a bright band leaking light now. Normal was not going to happen. And if Fell thought he could make that decision for him… he was going to _kill_ him! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is actually labelled "Anathema has the braincell" in the draft


	8. Signs and symbols

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony tris to puzzle out his own behavior to find Fell. Discovers patterns in his behavior even he wasn't aware of.
> 
> Seek out help from Anathema.
> 
> Despite the number of specific warnings in the author note, this is probably the lightest chapter. Rest here and recover before next chapter...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mutilation of a corpse- one sentence  
> Corpse fed to animals  
> Mild body horror- wound on hand looks weird  
> Multiple past murders- no violence described  
> Uriel is murdered. A gun is fired without anyone being hit. Anthony has his glasses broken into his face  
> Past homophobia- disowned by family  
> Anthony’s pattern of killing and sheer volume of victims laid out  
> Anthony referred to as being Not Human  
> Accusation of cannibalism (untrue)  
> Past indecent with Shadwell referenced  
> Anthony describes sensory experience of how he knows he's going to kill.  
> Moral judgment made of Anthony's victims, that they were in some way at fault  
> Stabbing mentioned  
> Fell referred to as a thing or entity- Anthony insists he is a person, even if not physically human  
> Mild body horror- Anthony's aura is described as scarred

The ice didn’t last. Freak weather had become more frequent in the last few decades. Unpredictability had become the norm. And now it swung into a different extreme of being unseasonably warm. It was not usually a time for shirt sleeves, but here he was cleaning up downed limbs from his chestnuts that had crashed down under the burden of ice. He wasn’t sure what else to do other than tend to his responsibilities. 

Calling Fell by name had not worked. The only thing he’d succeeded in calling was the ravens. They’d recognized his voice, even having gone raw calling for his own lost partner. He’d stayed and flayed the corpse open for them so they could make short work of it. He hadn’t even bothered with Erik’s car what with the ice. It would look natural that it had been abandoned where it got stuck. It would be days before anyone noticed it hadn’t been retrieved. 

He had gone home and made dinner as usual. Put on a playlist of all Fell’s favorites. Had filled that strange bowl and eaten alone in the dark waiting for a voice that never came. 

The cooked potatoes in the stew had somehow sprouted during that time, sending out little runners. Something was very, very _wrong_ and he had no idea what to do about it. So… chores. Let a life of routines calm his mind so he could think. Let him take care of his home and animals as if Fell would just come back into his life suddenly. He looked at the bandage on his hand and the leaf buds on the fallen branches and knew that wasn’t true. 

The wound on his hand no longer hurt but it also wasn’t exactly healing either. It looked closed but if he didn’t keep it covered, there was definitely some sort of glow under the skin. It was warm and it pulsed slightly, keeping pace with his heart. He was wearing fingerless gloves now, like his Da once did. He found them too warm in the unseasonable heat and knew they would attract questions about his health if he went out. 

He wondered if this was why Fell had the ring, covering up some irreparable crack in his human fascade. The ring occasionally wandered around Fell’s hands when he was losing hold on his form, but most of the time sat on the pinky on his dominant hand. As much as Fell could be said to have one. It was the hand he used the knife with but as he couldn’t really _touch_ anything, he tended to use both hands equally for gesturing when he talked. He had no idea what hand Fell ate with. If his hands even looked human when he ate. 

He could picture Fell’s hands clearly. When he looked human, they looked so soft. Much as the rest of Fell did. There was something inviting about him. His appearance looked like it was supposed to be touched. Had been from the wear on his clothes. They’d started that way, but only grown more so with the decades. He was fairly sure they weren’t clothes so much as a manifestation of Fell himself, so the wear had always intrigued him. Did it actually _feel_ worn to Fell? 

Anthony favored his left, so the wound came constantly into view when he used his hand. He usually wrote with his right hand however as the school had insisted on that. He hoped they’d stopped that by now. 

He continued hauling the downed limbs to a pile where they could compost down slowly. Though the way things were going, it might sprout whole new trees at this point. Was it just him? Was this centered on him? No. He’d despondently listened to the radio for a while once he concluded Fell was not coming home. The unseasonable weather was not confined to the area around him. It was more widespread than that. But the national news hadn’t indicated anything like these wild swings. Whatever was happening, was happening _here_. 

How long had Fell been missing? Had he gone immediately after his ability to see him ended back in the summer? Or had he vanished sometime during his healing? Had his healing driven Fell away in some way? He was… well… he was whatever he was. Something associated with death if not Death himself. Probably not Death himself, as if one single figure could handle all of reality at once. Be weird to have had Death sitting at dinner with him so frequently. Teaching him to play chess, even if he had to make Anthony move the pieces for him. He surely had things to do. 

Fell had sometimes had things he clearly _had_ to tend to. Maybe this was just something that had kept him. But those had always been matters of hours, not days. He never entirely failed to come. Not since he’d brought him home. This was his home too now. His _somewhere._

Where to start was the problem. With a person who can be everywhere and nowhere, there were an awful lot of somewheres he might be. The one place he wasn’t was with Anthony. 

But he was sure he’d been here up until very recently. He was fairly certain of that. The oppressive feeling had lifted after Halloween. Had the seance actually driven him off? 

No. He remembered dreaming since then. They weren’t the full dreams he had when Fell is truly manifested, where he can recover pieces of his memory. But since he invited Fell to bed, gave him a _somewhere_ to actually rest next to him, they have been different. He had night terrors when he was a child, understandably, so his sense of what is a scary dream is rather warped. Many of the dreams he’d had should probably _be_ scary. 

There were a lot that involved falling. Heights wasn’t one of his fears, so they were probably the clearest indication something had changed. Was that what Fell feared? Falling? _Could_ he dream, lying there next to Anthony? They certainly hadn’t seemed like they were his own. They had no connection to his own fears. A sudden lurch and drop and sometimes the setting of his dream changed. Usually it was still his dream, but sometimes landscapes appeared that he felt he knew but they seemed from a different time. Something about the curve of a hill was familiar. But the rest was wrong. It was somewhere he had seen nearby, but not with a great oak forest with trees so big it took four people to wrap their arms around the trunks. Those were all gone. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a tree that big in person. 

When had he last had a dream like that? Within the week before he’d killed, though he couldn’t remember what day. Fell had been home then. He was sure of that. Had shared a bed with him. As much as he hoped he’d come home after their time ran out… he was equally sure he wasn't home now. 

He had the suspicion the ice fog and Fell’s disappearance were linked. He’d gotten a glimpse of him at odd times on foggy days, when the whole world was soft. He couldn’t talk to him. Just sometimes see him as part of the landscape. 

The fog had been on the solstice. That didn’t feel like coincidence. He had no idea what it meant, but it meant _something_. It felt like it had some kind of occult symbolism, though he wasn’t sure what. He considered calling Tracy, but while she might lend him a sympathetic ear, and have relationship advice, none of the occult things she’s suggested had ever applied to Fell. 

He’d started that project of mapping out where he’d killed for some occult symbol before Fell had said there wasn’t one. That where he ditched cars was much closer to laying something out. He could restart that, maybe narrow down the possible somewheres Fell might be. 

When he went back to the house, he found the map and started tracing those out. He ignored the old spot he’d dealt with Sandolphon. Michael hadn’t even owned a car. Those had been personal. Unrelated. Other than Sandy having brought Fell back to him in what passed as his flesh. 

The first person he’d killed because he felt there was a purpose to it, that had been far from here. That had been several hours away. It had been a weird and awkward ride home, having killed someone just to see Fell. To have it verified it _worked_. He’d been equal parts exhilarated and exhausted. Fell had mostly been confused. He’d realised he couldn’t make the drive back all in one shot, so had grabbed dinner at a chip shop on the way and then pulled over by the side of the road to eat. 

It had been better than sitting in the shop having people stare at him talking to nothing. He’d laid out an old blanket he kept in the car in case it broke down and they’d had a dreadfully awkward picnic. They were both pretty awful at conversation. Fell even worse as he was so unused to being responded to. Trying to ask Fell about himself had not gone that well since Anthony didn’t know the rules yet about what Fell couldn’t say. He didn’t even know to call him Fell. And that name wasn’t quite enough now. If he actually knew Fell’s name, he was sure he could just _call_ him. Rip him away from wherever he was. Bring him home. 

That first murder had given him enough confidence to move closer to home for killing. He stalked many different people in that time. Some he killed. Some he felt that _rightness_ fall away from him. Something had changed and they were no longer for him. He didn’t understand. Fell had first called it a “purpose” during that time. That had felt _right_. That was what it was about. 

But it had also been about Fell. He’d stayed a little longer then. That was when he ate out a lot. So Fell could hear him interact with other people, and through Anthony, interact with them as well. It had taken a toll on him to do so. If they went somewhere too busy where he had to actively work at not having people ignore Anthony, it shortened their time together. Perhaps it had been less an exhaustion of power so much as Fell being unable to deal with people. It was during that period that Fell first mentioned liking a radio show Anthony had listened to weekly. It was the first indication he stayed on, unseen. 

He’d invited Fell home, invited him to that _somewhere_ , but he hadn’t thought he was there constantly. Later questions about those early years indicated Fell hadn’t been spending that much time here yet. But once he’d started doing things because he thought Fell _might_ be there, he _had_ been. Fell had started suggesting places to go and things he might like to listen to. That was probably the real indication of when Fell actually started being _somewhere_ in a meaningful way. 

Once Fell could actually eat with him… that had been a wild year. He’d sold off the sheep as they weren’t doing that well anyway and they took up so much time. He focused and planned to make things run easier. They’d done much of that when he was a teen, but it was his farm now. Da had been set on sheep but they just weren’t that profitable. Focus on what type of meat gets him more time with Fell, less time on chores. 

Then Fell had let him watch him free others. He still appeared in that strange almost a person shape but his voice, his voice was familiar now. When he was done he would slide into that soft and fussy form easily. It had been his most active period. He’d killed almost monthly then. 

It hadn’t been all good between them. He’d finally gotten Fell’s name then. And he’d fled immediately after. He’d paused then. No killing, just planning. Let Fell have a bit of time to think about it. Still played music. Still talked to him as if he was there. 

Things had heated up with the Palmers again as his shift in business apparently made them more eager to take back the farm yet again. He had a go round with them over the cemetery as they had tried to stop a burial. It had been the last of Mum and Da’s old friends. They’d spent time trying to make up with their family. If their family would let their partner be disinterred and reburied at the family plot, then they’d lie with their blood relatives. If not… Anthony had dug what he hoped was a last grave. 

Beez and Dagon had come to the funeral and swore they didn’t want to come to any more. They’d only ever known a world filled with the dying, telling them about how it used to be. Beez had launched zirself at that goal with fury and mostly succeeded. Partially it was just so many had died by that point, they had lost a whole generation. There was nothing to hold onto anymore. They were what was left, building back from scratch. Anthony hadn’t participated in that part. He’d just been the place they knew they could always lay someone down if they failed. And they did still fail. 

Few bodies went into the ground, but many people walked on it. He remembered seeing Fell sometimes among the tombstones when there were visitors on soft, misty days. He’d see those gentle hands laid on a stone of someone who’d been cast out, but was remembered here. Even without seeing him themselves, sometimes visitors seemed to sense that something was there, just out of sight. The world hadn’t quite ended, but it had been transformed. It was hard for them to even comprehend that old world most of the time, but the stones made it real. They could not forget: _Never again._

He still killed with purpose then, just spread out more. He wanted to see Fell but he was certain he was there. Had stumbled with his name once then, calling him when he shouldn’t. Had paid the price for that. Fell had still stayed with him. They had resettled into a more comfortable rhythm. They both knew the rules now. They couldn’t communicate directly, so had to make those periods together count. He’d started leaving books around the house then, slowly turning the pages for Fell. 

There had been one disruption in their routine. He’d taken a holiday to kill Uriel. He’d gone all the way up to Scotland to stalk her on one of the great estates. All that vast acreage and it wasn’t enough for the Palmers. They had no need of his little farm. The point was that _he_ couldn’t have that little tiny bit of his own. 

It had been difficult, but he’d simply disappeared into the landscape. Been the _nothing_ that the Palmers desired. A ghost among the living. He’d stalked her while she was out sport hunting. His hunting was anything but sport. She’d gotten off a shot at him, but it had gone wild. Her gun wasn’t meant for close range. It was still a very effective club. She’d broken his glasses and he ended up with a ring of bruises around his eyes from the frames being slammed into his face. He’d still killed her. 

Fell had come but he’d had to fight with Uriel to make her go and it had exhausted him. He’d never even slipped into his human guise. “I will see you at home.” He hadn’t been angry about the distance, just seemed bone weary. Anthony had rolled the body into a peat bog. Perhaps some archaeologist a thousand years from now would try their hand at solving that murder. 

He’d hurried home to a dark house. He’d left the lights off at Fell’s request and prepared them a simple meal in the dark, entirely by touch. It had banished a little of the growl from Fell’s voice but he hadn’t tried to sit next to him on the couch. He had no idea where Fell began and ended. He wasn’t sure Fell did either. The entire house had smelled of peat bog and rust. Fell had been gone in the morning, the shortest time they’d had together in a decade. He never killed that far away again. 

Fell definitely lived somewhere then. “Home” he’d called this. Now either Fell had been called far enough away he couldn’t return or he was still very close by. The wild weather made him think he was close by, to have reality bending under the weight of whatever was keeping him somewhere other than home. 

He had so many potential places to put on the map. Discounting the Palmers… he paused for a moment. Erik _had_ been special. If the Palmers were discounted, he’d been lucky number 100 of those he’d killed with _purpose._ If it was just some kind of magic total number, he’d hit 100 right before Michael with Mr. Quartermain. And then Mr. Usher. Michael had been 102nd by that count, remarkable for having wounded him so badly, not numerology. 

If he just included those killed after Uriel, when Fell had very specifically called this _home_ and acted like he really was tied to this _somewhere_ , that was still almost forty people spread over a decade. Slightly less cars, but this was still going to be a very cluttered and incriminating map. 

Though he rather suspected Shadwell may already have drawn up something very similar… well. Let the old guy be useful for once. Twenty minutes of wandering around the internet and he had an interactive version. Certain corners of the internet were _very_ enthusiastic about serial killers and suspicious disappearances, though they couldn’t seem to agree if he one very long lived one or some kind of criminal enterprise. 

He saved a version onto his own computer and made sure it was disconnected from the crowdsourced one he’d seen. No public updates. He hid a few he knew weren’t him. Maybe they’d be relevant later, but he had so much information to put in already… 

Several hours later and an entire pot of tea and he had a map of where he operated once Fell truly _lived_ with him. It was a mess and probably had too many layers, but he had something to look at to determine where Fell might possibly be. If he squinted, it did sort of look like some kind of unidentified occult symbol. He took his glasses off. His eyesight really was terrible with them off but he could see closeup things. He turned the brightness down on the tablet so he could leave them off. 

All the individual points and lines blurred into a bigger shape. Still extremely cluttered and so chaotic as to not be recognizable as anything. If Fell had been saying something to him with the comment about it being the cars, he could ignore the actual kill and dump sites. He fumbled with layers for a moment and finally managed to leave just the car drop sites. They did have a tendency to cluster in some specific areas, but that was because of something that made it likely to be stolen. It wasn’t very helpful. He turned back on the layer with the kill sites. Then made another one to just start tracing lines between kill and dump. He’d had to move the car along roads, so they overlapped a great deal. But as he got about half way through, there was a pattern. Just not one that made any sense. He erased it to start over, swapping colors as he went as his suspicion grew. 

The memory of those abandoned early hunts rose up. Why had he abandoned them? One he had actually returned to stalking the next year and eventually killed. Why? Looking at the map now, the season changed and he migrated to a new quadrant. He’d kill in the new one and then drop it in the old one. If he killed again the same season, he stayed within it. He turned back on the dump sites for the bodies. Started to draw lines. He often left them close to where he’d killed them so as to not risk transporting them. He’d had a few too many close calls early on. But here were ones where he killed and dumped the car in the same quadrant, then hauled the body to the new one. It seemed like what he _needed_ to do. He checked the dates of those. It really _was_ seasonal. 

Was this what Shadwell felt like? Patching together bits of nothing til it looked like something? 

He’d just never seen this particular pattern before. If it was a pattern at all. It felt… _purposeful_ to him. Even if he hadn’t been aware he’d been doing it, he could look at it now and remember at the time it had seemed important to do so. As if he was following some important migration route. Or a ritual he didn’t understand. 

* * *

* * *

He didn’t actually mean to sneak up on her when she was using the theodolite along a hedgerow. He'd come across the field. He moved unseen again. It seemed to come naturally to him now. More so than actually being seen. He just wanted to talk to her about the drone. 

“Oi, you’re the archaeologist?” 

She startled at suddenly finding someone within a few yards of her and backed up quickly. 

“What are you?” 

“Anthony Crowley '' There's a brief pause as he realizes he’s answered the wrong question. _What._ Not who. He’s not sure how to proceed with the conversation if she really meant _what_. He pretended it had been who. “I own the farm down on Old Newlands Lane. Probably heard somebody call it Hell. Sell rabbits. Your assistant comes out to help me. He was driving me around earlier in the year, when I had the bad leg.” 

She didn’t seem any less tense. He can see her hand reaching for something and recognised the outline in her boot. 

He sighed and backed up, putting his hands up. “Let’s not start that. I want to talk.” 

“Do you know my name?” 

“Newt called you Dr. Ana? Sorry, not sure if that’s your first or last.” He was increasingly unsure how to proceed with this conversation. 

“And you’re not finding out.” 

“That’s… fair. It’s Anthony _J._ Crowley. If that makes a difference.” 

“What’s the J?” 

“Just a J. I hadn’t picked one when I needed to finalize name change and just left it as a J. Never quite got around to picking one. Seems silly now.” 

“What was it before?” 

“Anthony Palmer. Changed my name cause I was tired of people into murder looking me up and harassing me. I was the… Wrong Boy.” 

“You’re… Newt said something about you had that sign up on the gate. I listened to the podcast after that. Worst kind of poorly researched garbage..” 

“Most of it. No Satanists involved. I’m not literal devil spawn or a changeling so far as I know.” Maybe that’s all she’d meant by the _what_. 

“What part of it _was_ true?” She was eyeing him carefully, but was watching his hands and feet, not his face. 

“Anthony Palmer was the name my adopted parents gave me. Didn’t have a birth certificate. Don’t actually know what my name was. The people that got murdered up on Thorn Way, they assumed that’s where I came from but no one was ever sure. Always assumed my first name was probably something with the J since it seemed… right for that middle name. Just couldn’t figure it out.” 

“You’re volunteering an awful lot of information.” 

“Newt’s right, you are very smart.” 

“I do remember you. I thought he was talking about Shadwell before I sorted out he was driving around two different old men with bum legs. I’d met him before that. He’s not as sneaky as you are.” As she was indeed looking at the leg, like she was seeing something that was no longer there. 

“I think his crawling through the bracken days are a bit past him. I didn’t actually mean to sneak up on you. Just wanted to talk.” 

“About what?” As she was tensing back up again, ready to either go for the knife or run. 

“Okay, fine. I don’t like doing this. I’m not sure what has you this on edge.” 

“What are you doing?” 

He reached up and took his glasses off, squinching his eyes shut. He turned to hold them out at arm’s length as far from his possible. 

“Here, take them. I can’t see without them. So I can’t do whatever it is you think I’m going to do if I can’t see.” 

“I am not getting close enough to take your glasses. Also, they’re your glasses. That’s… mean.” Her voice had softened. 

He looked along his arm at her and could just see a bit of a blur. But he knew she could see his eyes clearly from the blur backing a little further away. 

“Used to get them stolen a lot when I was a teenager. They’ve always been like that.” 

“Don’t try to bond with me over kids being jerks. I can see what you’re doing.” 

He chuckled a little. “Got me there. But you can take my glasses. I’ll put them on the ground if you like.” 

“No. Put them back on. I’m not a monster. Why are you trying so hard?” 

“I think you know where something I want is. Some _one_. ” He let the charm slide, he needed information, but she could see the trick. Being honest might be the best bet. That was harder. He put the glasses back on so he could see her face again. 

“What are you going to do?” She was back to watching his hands and feet again, to see if he moved towards her. 

“We can dance around this. You asked me _what_ I was, before you knew _who_ I was. People have only asked me that when they already knew who I was. Had seen me. Why?” 

“You’re not human.” 

“ _Rude_.” 

“Your aura is like nothing I’ve ever seen.” 

“And have I done anything to your boyfriend except pay him?” 

“Don’t _think_ about it.” She took a step towards him and then paused as soon as she realised what she was doing. 

“That wasn’t a threat. That’s just… I really didn’t do anything to him when I was riding around in that rollerskate of his. Or when he was at the farm with me. Why should I do anything now?” 

“Now you _want_ something. And you called him my _boyfriend_.” 

“He thinks the world of you, but calling him your assistant first seemed more respectful. I wasn’t approaching you as his girlfriend, but in your professional capacity. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. Archaeologist stuff.” 

“And if I don’t give you the information I want?” 

“You might not actually know what I want. So I might have to try alternate routes. You know _something_ is wrong here. I think maybe you dug something up that changed things.” 

“You said you were looking for someone. Some _thing_.” 

“He’s… he was more of a something once. He’s definitely someone now. I just want him to come home.” He could hear how plaintive he sounded. It was true. He wasn’t trying to be manipulative. 

“How do I know you’re not chasing him?” That actually was a fair point. 

“I am. But I’m not a threat. Not to him. We live together.” 

“Newt was very sure you live alone.” 

“It’s really, really complicated. But I’m not trying to hurt him. I… I just want him home. How do I know you aren’t the one that’s chased him into hiding?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I did. Something _evil_ lives here. Something is killing people.” 

“That’s… actually me. I’ll dispute the evil part, but the killing is me.” He stayed very still. 

“You get the hell away from me. I am calling the police!” Now she was definitely scrambling for a knife. It turned out to be a bread knife. 

“Over what? I kill rabbits and pigs all the time. You probably ate something I sent home with Newt.” 

Her eyes got wide and she gagged a little. “You sent him home with that!?!” 

“You didn’t know it was a rabbit?” 

“I didn’t know that’s what people tasted like!” 

“What? Nooooooooo. Ew. Ew gross. No. That is how you get _diseases_. The entire idea. Ew no. Gross. What is wrong with you!?!” 

“That’s a thing serial killers do!” 

“Well it's gross! No! Nooooooooo. That’s not…” He waved hands in front of him, palms out. “That’s _disgusting_.” 

“Are you feeding him _people_?”” 

“No! The last thing we had was leftover curry!” 

“Oh.” This was so far from where she expected conversation to go she just paused for a moment to stare at him “Curry?” 

“Yeah. he’s my… he lives with me. Has for decades.” 

“So you’ve… misplaced your… husband?” 

“He’s not my…. Actually he might be. I don’t think he knows that. Um. We had some things to talk about.” 

“What did you _do_?” 

“Something dumb, a long time ago. But it mostly worked out. Just took work. Figuring out how to talk things out. How to live together. He travels a lot. He just didn’t come home when he should. Things are… wrong.” 

“Why do you think I know?” 

“You uncovered that great chalk figure. He’s always been… concerned about his image. Sometimes I’m not even allowed to look at him. Like it’ll hurt me. Or I’ll hurt him. He’s afraid of cameras. And drones. You’re the only one with a drone in the area. I think maybe you’ve seen him. Might give me somewhere to look for him.” 

“I thought they were camera artifacts… auras don’t usually show up on digital cameras. They do on some film cameras.” 

“You’re not really an archaeologist are you?” 

“I have a doctorate in archaeology.” She tipped her chin up at him and pointed the bread knife back at him. 

“I apologize. But you’re not the usual sort that does things for the government and just tells people where not to lay conduit because there’s an old Norman village there. You’re a hunter.” 

“I’m no pot hunter!” She took a step towards him in anger again and then backed off. 

“Too bad, cause I have one of those.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him “Uh-huh, and I should go with you to see it.” 

“Gosh no, I’m not letting you touch any such thing.” 

“Maybe we both have things of interest to the other. What’s it look like?” 

He considered for a moment and then sketched things out with his hands. “About this big. Metal. Bronze I think. It’s got some rings around the edge. Hammered pattern along the edge and by where the rings connect. It's a slightly different one on each connection. Kind of abstract seasonal pattern, buds, flowers, fruit, and snow.” 

“How many rings?” 

“I think four originally, there’s only on left. I think maybe rings were so you could hang it over a fire.” 

“That’s smaller than I thought…” She left the knife drop some as she was thinking. Clearly this was ringing some kind of bell with her. 

“What do you think I have?” 

‘Where did you find it?” She brought the knife back up, focus restored. 

“Dug it up accidentally. But I _knew_ it was for him. He was so _excited_. But also a little frightened… we could actually eat together then.” 

“And you fed him curry?” 

“That was recent. Just really whatever I could. He was so excited about getting to taste things. Touch things.” 

“How long ago was that?” 

“Years now. Decades. How old are you?” 

She glared at him. 

“Probably not before you were born, but you were probably a child.” 

“So you’ve just been living with some kind of supernatural entity that you may or may not be married to and you’ve been feeding it...” 

“Him.” 

“...Him out of some kind of artifact you pulled out of the earth without knowing what it does. And you think that ME uncovering something has set all this off, not the decades of what you’ve been doing? 

“Okay, when you put it that way, it does sound a little dumb. But this… this is all wrong.” He swept a hand around at the trees in the hedgerow that were both ravaged by ice damage and currently sprouting new leaves. The grass was coming up in patches and spring flowers that shouldn’t be blooming in the dark of the year were sending up stalks. “You haven’t lived here forever. We’ve never had ice like his. And the trees shouldn’t have still be in leaf when it happened. And definitely shouldn’t be sprouting new leaves this soon. It’s January!” 

“Global warming is making the climate unstable.” She didn’t sound convinced herself. 

“Not like this. Not in one tiny part of the country. You know it. I know it. Help me. Please. If it is something he’s doing on purpose, I can talk to him.” 

“And what, say please stop controlling the weather?” 

“He’s never done anything like this before. Nothing even close. Sometimes he can’t hold his shape and things get weird, but he’s only ever hurt me. And it was an accident.” 

“But he did hurt you.” Her eyes had narrowed at him. There was something different about the way she was looking at him. A little less harsh, a little more like she was sorry for him. 

“It’s not like that. He doesn’t do that much now. Not like when we were first together.” He knew it sounded like he was defending Fell when he shouldn’t. When he should be getting away from him. “He hasn’t tried to scare me in a long time. He’s more afraid now he’ll hurt me. But he still does that sometimes accidentally. He’s just… a lot.” 

“He shouldn’t _hurt_ you.” There was that ring of truth there. Things hadn’t always been good. 

“I know that. He knows that. He’s just… has Newt ever accidentally elbowed you or stepped on your foot?” 

“Yes.” 

“Like that. He’s just… he can’t touch me when he’s manifested without hurting me and he’s very careful of that now. It was just hard early on. He’d lose control of his shape or his voice and then he’d just end up suddenly occupying the same space with me and that doesn’t _work_. We both didn’t know how to give each other enough space to not have that happen sometimes. He’s not trying to hurt me. There’s no malice to it. He’s… he wasn’t dealing well with me being injured.” 

“Did he do that to you? Is that why you were lame?” 

“No. That was… it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t him. He was distraught because he couldn’t help me at all. What would you do if Newt was hurt and you couldn’t touch him? Couldn’t even be in the same room with him? Because you could hurt him just by touching him accidentally. He thought just being close to me was what reopened the wound when it was nearly healed.” 

“You and Shadwell both were lame at the same time. What happened?” 

“I don’t know. He… might have been right about what he did. Reopened the wound. I know the figure got uncovered the day before. Maybe through me went through Shadwell. It’s where I stabbed him decades ago.” 

“You _stabbed_ him?” 

“You thought I was _eating people_ and you’re surprised I _stabbed him_? You’ve _met_ Shadwell. He was young then though. He was trying to burn down my barn. So I stopped him by stabbing him with a pitchfork. I really feel that one counts as self defense. And he’s still alive!” 

“Is that why he’s on about you being the devil?” 

“Did you actually _listen_ to him?” 

“Some of the information he had was correct.” She sounded rather embarrassed now. 

“And some of it was really, really wrong. Did he tell you about the naked witches?” 

From her face, he had. “Did he go to jail? For the arson?” 

“No, I had no idea it was him until I saw him years later. It was really, really awkward. He never mentioned to anyone how he got stabbed. Oh, and my pig bit him too.” 

“How is he still alive? Newt says he lives entirely on tea with sweetened condensed milk in it.” 

“Tracy makes him eat actual food. He’s rather fond of rabbit apparently. He’s never put two and two together as to who the only person in the area is that sells rabbit meat and where Tracy gets rabbit. He can connect me to Satan, but not to where dinner came from.” 

“Alright… that does fit. He’s… weird.” 

“He’s kind of an asshole. But he’s so weird it kind of makes up for some of it.” 

“Barely.” 

“You’ll get used to it.” 

“No. I don’t have to tolerate that kind of behavior.” 

“Fair enough. I’ve never been quite sure what Tracy sees in him either, but I don’t exactly have a leg to stand on there with choice of partners.” 

Anathema glanced down at his leg again but finally lowered the knife. 

“You keep looking at my leg. You’re seeing _something_.” 

“It’s like your aura is scarred. From what you said… there’s four old scars in a row in your leg, and a newer one that connects two of them. And there’s an overall sort of… leafy pattern?” 

“So old mark where I stabbed Shadwell, newer mark where Michael stabbed me. Don’t know what the leaves are.” Though staring at the out of season trees…. 

“Why is everyone stabbing each other around here?” 

“No guns.” 

“Okay, fair point. Isn’t the country supposed to be peaceful?” 

“Have you ever _lived_ in the country before this?” 

“No, it's all very… it’s really damp here.” 

“Soft, it's soft.” 

“The air is _condensing_ on us.” 

“It’s England. This is really the only normal part of the current weather.” 

“Alright, back up, who’s Michael? Is this someone else you need to find? And why were they stabbing you?” 

“They’re dead so we don’t need to involve them.” 

“Did you stab them?” 

“Is it going to change your mind on what to do if I tell you?” 

“I have no idea why I should help you. This is madness. But you may be the only one that can do something about this.” She swept hand around at the landscape. “Put your husband back wherever he’s supposed to be.” 

“Home. I’d like to take him home.” He swallowed roughly. 

“There were some photographs I got off the drone I thought were just artifacts or bugs too close to the lens. They’ll make weird white shapes like that sometimes. But there were a few that looked like a person. But they were so blurry and weird looking that it was just kind of headache inducing. I didn’t keep them. But I know where they were taken.” 

“Is that how you found the chalk figure, with the drone?” 

“Yes. It was dry enough in August for there to be a difference in vegetation color that could be seen from the air. And that let me uncover that. Though it was an accident to start with.” 

“Didn’t see that part in the paper.” 

“You don’t want to mention that part of the hill slumped off when you were digging a test hole. It was like the turf just peeled away as soon as the cut was made.” She made a hand motion that looked all too familiar. 

“Peeled away like taking a coat off?” 

She gave him a hard look “Yes. It shouldn’t have been that easy. It just, it was like it wanted to be unearthed. It was exciting. I felt like I _needed_ to do it.” 

“Like it was your _purpose_.” 

“That’s… yes. I called Newt to help me in the morning and it went so _fast._ It really shouldn’t have. We should have slowed down, done it the right way.” 

“Did that first portion end up being a leg?” 

Her eyes widened and then she looked down at his leg again. 

“We need to find your husband.” 

* * *

* * *

This was easier said than done. They didn’t really trust each other. But were at least in agreement that something _needed_ to be done. Newt was a bit perplexed when he came to pick Ana up from her little work tent and the two of them practically levitated at being startled. He also found himself facing two knives. 

“What is going on?” Newt had his hands up defensively and had dropped the thermos he’d been carrying 

Anthony slid his knife away much faster than Ana did. He saw her eyeing that with a grave look, eyes flicking to Newt before saying nothing. 

“Mr. Crowley needed some help locating something. He’s helped me narrow down where there might be a likely ritual complex nearby.” 

“I thought you’d determined that was unlikely.” 

“He had some additional information about what might be under some of the old road surfaces.” He’d actually had a map of his procession of killings. Adding in the chalk figure and where he’d recovered the bowl from long ago, they’d narrowed down some likely locations. Ana had a few other sites she thought there might also be chalk figures based on drone footage, but they were on land she hadn’t been able to access. 

That this one that had started it all was on the Palmer lands was an irony not lost on him. How long had they owned this land? Had their ancestors known it was there? Had those ancestors covered it up at some point? They’d allowed Ana to look but she wasn’t supposed to dig. Michael’s death meant no one had objected to that. Ana had given him a hard look when she’d remembered the name of the person that was supposed to be approving things… and was now missing. 

“Are we going to be up all night?” 

“Maybe?” She gave Newt a charming smile. 

“I'll go get the battery backup for the laptop. And pizza. Is Mr. Crowley staying?” 

“I’ll pay for the pizza. That’s only fair.” 

“Thanks.” Newton accepted the bills from Anthony’s wallet and went off to make sure they didn’t starve. 

“He’s a keeper.” 

“Shush you. I’m not taking relationship advice from Mr. I’m-Not-Sure-If-I’m-Married.” 

“Are you going to explain to him what we’re doing?” 

“Can I?” 

“You’ve got free will.” 

“I’m not entirely sure you’re not going to turn on me when we’re done. I’d prefer you not decide to eliminate Newt as some kind of witness.” 

“Fair point. But that’s… I’m not going to kill you. It’s not my purpose.” 

“Are you compelled to kill for…” 

“No. Not at all. Funny enough we had that conversation back in August. He was worried he was _making_ me kill. There’s just some people I see and they’re…” He frowned. “ You know how you described my aura looked scarred?” 

“You can see auras?” 

“Probably that’s what I _see_. It’s the part I notice most. But it’s a whole body thing. There’s a taste in my mouth, kind of fruity and sour and biting, a bit like pineapple, oddly enough. There can be a bunch of different smells, but they’re generally kind of wet and unpleasant. Sometimes a bit on the putrid meat side. Those vary a lot. There’s a sound I can’t quite consciously hear, like that sound fluorescent lights have. And pressure on my skin, and if I move my hands a certain way, it lets up, like I’m being guided through a motion. And I can see where I need to cut people. To take them apart. Take them from this life, send them on.” 

“Is this some kind of mercy killing?” 

“Maybe? Mercy for others often. A lot of them are not nice people. Maybe never were. Some are just deeply wounded people that were lashing out at the world. Maybe they’d have gotten better. But in all the time they’d had… they hadn’t. But killing them, there’s a _purpose_ to it. It’s not random. I’m not angry at them. There’s satisfaction in it, there’s a purpose to it even if I don’t understand it. I don’t get pleasure out of it. I feel like i’m doing something that I need to do.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“Never _could_ tell anyone before. Except him. But you already know. It’s also important to know you’re safe from me. So’s Newton. I don’t see anything like that. I’ll fight back if you try and stab me, but no, even having told you this I can’t see where to cut you.” 

“That is _really_ creepy.” 

“Sorry. Hopefully Newton doesn’t bring back pineapple pizza. That would be awkward.” 

“I hope you like mushrooms.” 

“They’re my favorite.” 

They both went back to staring at the screen for a few minutes, trying to make sense of just too much information. There were too many places Fell could be. He didn’t know what any of this meant to see any kind of pattern in it. Movies always made this part look much easier. He took off his glasses but that just made things blurry. 

“I think I do need to tell him. We need fresh eyes on this. We’re missing something obvious. He’s good at that. He’ll physically trip over something right in front of him and then pick up on some little thing that was just obscured by all the clutter. He’s amazing with aerial photos. He’s terrible with the program though, so I can’t let him look at raw data in case he somehow manages to delete a whole bunch of photos.” 

“Sleeping might not be a terrible idea either.” Anthony frowned at his own suggestion. He needed to rest, but his room had seemed achingly empty at night with Fell missing. He missed the strange dreams of falling. 

“What if I call the police on you while you’re sleeping?” 

“And tell them what again?” 

“This is a map of your activities, isn’t it.?” 

“Just the big pattern. Which I didn’t even know I was doing until I laid it out a few days ago. Shadwell actually had more of this mapped out than I did. Oh, wait, hang on. Let me find the map he originally did. It had all kinds of nonsense on it I took off, but maybe it wasn’t all nonsense… I just need to figure out what rabbit trail on the internet got me there. Can I have the computer?” 

”I’ll leave you to it, Newt’s back.” He could hear the crunch of tyres nearby. 

He tuned out the sounds of soft discussion with occasional louder, shrill ‘what?” interspersed through it. Eventually a piece of mushroom pizza on a torn off section of the box was slid next to his hand. Newt looked nervous, but that seemed to be his default state. 

“What did she tell you?” 

“Not to be alone with you. Not to get so close you can grab me.” 

Anthony reached out slowly and poked him. “That’s not going well.” 

“I rode around with you all that time… that time you asked if I could house sit… were you going to…” 

“Oh gosh no. “ He could see Ana mouthing ‘gosh’ behind Newt and he made a face at her. “That was just sorting out if I was going to go to Tracy’s or she was going to come to me. I didn’t want to leave the house empty on Halloween. Had trouble a few times and things just… something was _wrong_. Felt like something was going on. Something bad was going to happen. Like I was being stalked.” 

“So you were going to have me watch the house that was being stalked?” 

“I was being stalked. That’s different. The general unease was to make sure nobody got ideas about sacrificing a cat to Satan in my graveyard.” 

“Does that happen often?” 

“I’ve run off people before.” 

“Did you…” 

“I used the hose.” 

“Did you really kill _people_?” Newt knew he killed animals regularly but seemed to be having trouble with believing that he could be dangerous. 

“Ana thought you might be able to spot something on the map that we missed.” 

“Your murder map?” Ana had come back into the little workspace now that she’d fetched herself pizza and a bottle of water. 

“Actually Shadwell made the original. He’s got a lot of time on his hands. There were some disappearances on here that were not me. There’s one around Halloween actually. Family came round with a flyer. They’d been fighting beforehand, but they just wanted him back. It’s still up in the barn since I have so many people come by for Christmas orders, they were hoping someone had seen him. Oh. Oh.” He put his hands over his face, finally making the connection. 

“What did you do?” Ana was glaring at him again. 

“I… I knew I was being watched and I invited people over on Halloween. People to watch back. Make sure I wasn’t alone. And after that the feeling of being stalked stopped…. They found an easier target. That poor boy. That poor family.” That was someone who genuinely would be missed and mourned once they had an answer as to his fate. Had Fell come for him? He hoped he had done so personally, to send him on his way. Be gentle with someone that was surprised to be dead. 

“What kind of _idiot_ stalks a serial killer?” Ana was back to peering at the map over his shoulder. 

“I looked like a man with a bum leg who lived alone and didn’t have any friends. Just any number of people gawking at me. But no one that got close enough for me to see them. I’d _know_.” He could hear something odd in his own voice there and both Newt and Ana backed up a little at that tone. “Sorry, that sounded creepy. Not used to talking about it. Not sure _how_ to. Making it weird. Didn’t mean to.” 

Newt recovered a little faster than Ana did. “Even with a bum leg, I could barely keep up with you on two good legs. This doesn’t seem like they could recognise you for… “ he seemed reluctant to say it out loud, like if he never named it, it wasn’t _true_. “...Well as dangerous.” 

“I’m not normally, anymore than Snuff is.” 

“SNUFF?” Ana was giving him the look like he’d admitted to something shocking. 

“My pig? The big boar. Newt’s petted him.” Newt nodded at this like he also had no idea what was going on. 

“He’s named… Snuff…” Ana seemed like she couldn’t believe how dumb he was. 

“He snuffles around? Look, I know its kind of a stupid name, but you try coming up with that many names for animals all the time. Most of them have pretty stupid names. One of my sows is named Milkbottle.” 

Ana was rubbing her forehead above her glasses. “No wonder nobody except Shadwell ever suspected. _Gosh_.” She did a credible impression of his voice. 

“Does she make this much fun of everyone, or just me?” He was looking at Newt. 

“Everyone. I just… I don’t deliver jokes very well, so I didn’t get them right when I repeated them. So I don’t think that came across when I was describing her.” 

“No, not really. Just how much you like her.” 

“I _do_.” He was giving her a bit of a shy smile and then ducked his head to look elsewhere.. 

Ana coughed slightly. “Are you sure they weren’t stalking your husband? Since he’s the one missing.” 

“Possibly? He’s normally not even visible to me, let alone anyone else. I’m not sure what they could do to him. Well, I guess I do now… I just want him to come _home_.” 

“Is this the ghost you talk to? Was that why you had Tracy out?” Newt was politely ignoring how distraught he’d sounded. Ana had briefly looked like she was going to pat him and then thought better of it. 

“Yes and no. He’s… not human. Never was. I can talk to him sometimes, but seance never worked. Tried that plenty early on. Figured out other ways eventually. Tracy’s just an old friend and puts on a good show. I can be spooky when given stage direction.” Ana looked dubious about whether he could scare much of anything _intentionally_. “You were scared of me earlier.” 

“And now I’ve met you. And I need to keep reminding myself how dangerous you are. You’re very disarming. I can _see_ the charm sometimes, but not all the time.” 

“I’ve had a few years to work on my social skills. I was really, really awkward and weird at your age. I got _better._ ” He’d put a lot of effort into that. Into learning all the proper ritual exchanges to fake being normal. He was just so utterly adrift as to how to talk about what was actually normal for _him_ in any other way than being _honest_. And that was what keept scaring them. 

“That turned out really badly for a lot of people.” She glanced at the map, which only showed off a fraction of his activities. “How dangerous and charming is your husband?” 

“He can really only charm me. Usually he can’t talk to anyone else. Except for very brief periods. He’s less awkward now.” 

“Would he have been inclined to go off with someone that could talk to him, just out of curiosity?” 

“Maybe… if he thought it would give him some way to talk to me more often. Usually we can only talk for a few weeks out of the year, under really specific circumstances.” 

“I notice you skipped the “how dangerous” part of the question.” Ana was giving him a look. 

“Both very dangerous and not at all. I think the worst he could do was stand in them. It’s not pleasant, but he usually won’t do so on purpose. That would be… eugh.” he gave a full body twitch. “Newt walked into him a few times.” 

“Wait, what? I didn’t even know you had a husband!” 

“Neither did he.” 

“Oh come on. I very much knew he was there! It’s just… complicated relationship.” He huffed slightly at it. “Anyway, those first few days, where you’d act like you stepped on something sharp, or walked into a cobweb… that was you walking into him. I did that a lot when we were first learning to share the same space. I don’t know where he is exactly, but can avoid him and he can avoid me. We know how to do it. He wasn’t used to having another person in the house so… bit like having too many people trying to work in a kitchen. Accidentally elbowing someone you don’t see. Except he’s actually incorporeal so you can put your whole body through him. I’m sure he’d apologise for it, if he could have said anything about it.” 

“Could he have actually chased off the stalker that way?” From Ana. 

“Possibly? He got rid of a few people who didn’t listen to me telling them no photos. Just standing on them ‘til they bolted. That’s … pretty aggressive for him, actually. There’s certain things he can’t do. Can’t say. He usually can’t warn me about things, except obliquely. We’ve figured out ways around that over the years, but it’s a can’t rather than a won’t. 

“Like a geas.” Newt and Ana spoke in unison and then stared at each other for a moment. Ana smiled at Newt and he ducked his chin again, chewing on his lip. 

“Maybe? I think it’s more just a function of his nature. Humans can fly because we’re clever bastards that will keep at it till we figure out how to use tools to do something. But a tiger can’t. Not in its nature.” 

“Unless a human puts it on an airplane.” from Newt 

“That’s… “ He frowned and thought about it for a few seconds. “That’s really annoyingly apt since he’s managed to tell me things if I can figure out how to get around it what he can’t say. And I can physically interact with him in a couple really specific ways using tools. Hmm.” 

“So he usually can’t act on humans except to spook them, but humans may be able to act on him?” Ana was now pacing a little, thought turning into restless motion. 

“Possibly. He definitely doesn’t like cameras. Your drone spooked him. I don’t know what exactly that does to him, but I accidentally got a picture of him once and he made me delete it without looking. He frequently won’t let me look at him during the period where I can see him but he’s… he was never human. Sometimes he can no longer keep up the facade. He always made it seem like he’d hurt me, to see him, but now… that seems like I could hurt _him_. I really don’t know how though.” 

“Someone figured out how to do _something_.” 

“I don’t think anyone can actually hurt him _physically_. So there’s that. But he’s… he’s probably scared. He was scared for me when I was hurt. I’m not sure he’d ever been scared. He’s not really good with emotions. I’m not sure he knows how to recognise what he’s feeling. And he only had me to talk with normally. He’s been… struggling.” 

“So if someone can hurt him, it will just be mentally or emotionally.” 

“Those are harder to recover from, so much harder.” He didn’t like how haunted he sounded. 

“So potentially whoever has your husband is just inflicting some kind of mental or emotional damage on him, causing a powerful supernatural entity to lash out at the whole area while trying to do who knows what.” 

“I don’t like you calling him an _entity_. He’s a person.” 

“Does he have a name? Sorry for not asking earlier.” Newt sounded contrite. 

“Yes… but… knowing it gives some power over him. I only know part of it.” 

“So if someone knew all or it… or was able to combine the image with a partial name, they might have greater power over him.” Ana leaned over and clicked through some of the pictures until she brought up the hill figure. “This might be as close as people could get before cameras. But told them what to look for.” 

Anthony stared at the chalk image, feeling some vague recognition there in the vaguely humanoid figure with the blank face and the squiggles coming off the head. It reminded him faintly of Fell’s hair as he started to lose his form, the curls turning more into slightly rumpled tufts. He wasn’t sure what the lines to the sides were. Not quite limbs. That was too many limbs for a human. But Fell really wasn’t.... 

“What should we call him meantime?” from Newt. 

Anthony looked away from the figure. “My husband is fine. Feels… right.” 

“You didn’t even know you were married until I asked!” Ana was giving him a glare. 

“Look, I was in my twenties and very messed up and I only can only directly intract with him for a few weeks a year most of that time. I’m kind of slow on the uptake.” 

“You were just roommates for decades.” 

“We had separate spaces. Till…” he could feel himself turning colors 

“What did you do _now_? I thought you couldn’t touch him?” Ana was looking at him like he was the biggest idiot and he was. 

“I _can’t_. But… We’re not talking about what a big dumb idiot I am anymore. We’re gonna talk about where he might be.” He went back to staring intently at the map, ears bright red. 

“What if it's just somewhere we can’t see?” from Newt 

“Finding someone invisible is annoyingly hard.” Ana was back to pacing. 

“That’s not what I meant. When I showed up, you said Mr. Crowley had info about what was under the road surfaces. We can’t see under that. You’ve been using the drone to try and look at stuff from above and not finding anything that looked like a ritual site to go with the figure, when you were pretty sure there should be _something_. It’s been bothering you for months. So it must be under what’s been built since then.” 

Ana came over and stared at the map laid over the roads. “A processional… damnit!” 

“Or underground. Somewhere you’d… fall into.” They both gave him a look. “Close contact, _not_ _physical_ ,” he held up a hand at Ana “usually gives me some kind of repetitive dreams. Recently they’d been about falling. They stopped since he’s been missing.” 

“So it could be _anywhere_ underground.” 

“But people need to get into it for it to be used for rituals.” from Newt. 

“Mineshaft.” 

“Marlpit. He mentioned having to avoid the drone near the marlpit. Up here.” He pointed on the map. “Was that where you had the weird pictures?” 

“Yes. I’ve been there, it's an open pit. There's not much there and the bomb crater collapsed part of the edge. It probably collapsed anything underground.” 

“So if it’s still accessible, the entrance must be somewhere you can’t clearly see it from the air and isn’t somewhere people walk very often or they’d have mentioned it.” Newt looked like he was puzzling it though “So somewhere with heavy tree cover and no paths. Or a path, but it's off the edge of it. You could be within a few hundred yards and not see it somewhere that was really overgrown.” 

This rapidly narrowed down the search to two likely locations where there was heavy enough tree cover to hide an old shaft. One at the murder house. One on the Palmer land. Ana kicked Anthony off the laptop so she could bring up pictures from earlier in the year, scouring those looking for a gap in the tree cover. 

Anthony squirmed at seing the murder house from the air. It looked so… mundane. Rotting apart. Being pulled down into the earth from having been abandoned all this time. The roof had collapsed at some point and mostly just a few uprights were left. There were several trees growing up through what had once been a carport. But those were relatively new. The older forests around it could be hiding anything. He could have been so close to Fell the whole time! There were a few spots in the tree canopy where it looked like there might be darker shapes beneath it. 

The Palmer estate had a lot more tree cover to look over. Some had been left intact for hunting purposes. None of the trees were as big as the ones he’d seen in dreams. There were some similar dark portions and then Anthony caught one photo where there was a white spot beneath the leaves. 

“There, back up. That’s exposed chalk. There. That’s a deeper cut.” 

“It's far enough off any paths no one’s probably been there in decades. Maybe centuries. And I have clearance to search for whatever sites I want so long as I don’t dig more than test holes…” 

“I see how that worked out.” 

“If that started all this… I’m sorry. But it just… “ He could see how excited she was by all this. Could feel that bit of spark of recognition. Of _purpose._

“Hang on. Look at me.” He carefully laid a hand on her arm, letting her see what he was about to do. There was a singing tension in her arm but she was looking at him like she suddenly recognised something in him and was frozen. “Focus. I know that feeling. That _purpose_. It feels so _urgent_. So _overwhelming_. Yours is _very_ different than mine. Don’t worry about that. But they’re temporarily aligned. I am deeply, deeply worried about my husband, but also if we fall down a bloody deep hole in the middle of the night because we’re all so tired, we’ll need rescuing ourselves. And no one else will be looking. Especially if no one has been there centuries. We should sleep and reconvene in the morning. With food and supplies.” 

“That makes a lot of sense. _Stop that_.” Ana pulled away, but some of that singing tension had gone out of her. 

“You don’t have the right equipment in the car, I’ll bet.” 

“No, if we’re doing that we’ll need the climbing gear and that’s back at the apartment.” 

“So you might as well sleep.” He knew he’d have trouble sleeping, but also knew he needed to do so. He wouldn’t be at his best til Fell was home, but he could be _better_ than now. 

“He’s right. And if someone else is out there, I’d prefer we not end up finding them in the dark. Or having them find us.” 

“Fine! Tomorrow!” Ana threw up her hands, defeated by everyone being _reasonable_. 

“Come pick me up about an hour after sunrise. Give me time to take care of the animals. Gonna be dark under tree cover before then anyway. Unless you want me to meet you at your flat.” 

“Do you know where we live?” Newt sounded only mildly concerned. 

“Nope.” 

“We’re keeping it that way!” 

“As you should.” He was never, _ever_ telling them how he’d invited Fell home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was basically everyone passing around the braincell. And Anthony gets to say 'gosh" a lot, which is honestly my favorite book! Crowley thing.
> 
> Next chapter: he needs to find his husband and ask if if they're married. He has *many* things he needs to talk about with him. He brings biscuits.


	9. Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony's not the only one with trauma which may make him the perfect person to talk through Fell's trauma with him and finally give him a different ending. They discuss the ways they've been hurt by others and each other, often because they didn't realize there was some other option than being hurt again. They WILL hurt each other again, but this time as part of intentionally unpacking their traumas so they can heal from them. Together.
> 
> You know the author is about to hurt you when they suggest a song:  
> [Pvris- Old Wounds](https://youtu.be/-Exl9aFzBY0)
> 
> also:  
> LOVE CONFESSION!!!  
> HAND HOLDING!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS  
> Anthony referred to as nonhuman- he’s ok with that in context  
> A joke is made about rideshare apps and murder  
> A potential future murder is planned  
> A body is described as having been eaten by scavengers  
> Anthony admits Fell has accidentally hurt him in the past during outbursts  
> Ana threatens to leave Anthony at the bottom of a hole to die (she does not)  
> Past animal death due to falling  
> Familial rejection over body autonomy (change to hair)  
> Body displayed in manner of ritual killing  
> Attempting to not get lost in a labyrinth of caves  
> So many bugs the ground appears to move (woodlice)  
> A bug is accidentally stepped on  
> Dead body growing fungus  
> Time distortion  
> Weird smells and sensations, possible hallucinations  
> Body horror- sound and sensation of mouth being used by another to speak  
> Fell accidentally injures Anthony in a supernatural manner resulting in a nosebleed  
> Past human sacrifice  
> Fell discusses being forced into a form he didn’t choose  
> Fell states he is not just not human, he’s not a person  
> Fell attempts to provoke a physical fight  
> Fell reveals his true form and causes Anthony pain that makes him bite his tongue bloody  
> Fell says he’ll kill Anthony  
> Fell indicates this ritual involved repeated attempts to murder him  
> Fell expresses he felt helpless to do anything about what was happening to him or the people involved in this ritual  
> Fell learns what a deadname is and that he doesn’t have to be called that anymore  
> Anthony tells Fell he’ll kill or confront the person that sent him here, but only with his permission. He does not have to face that person until he’s ready to.  
> Fell looks close to human but not quite. Weird teeth, eyeflash, glow  
> They discuss the intentional infliction of pain as part of healing process. This will hurt. They trust each other to do what’s needed to confront the problem to heal it  
> Blood drinking

* * *

* * *

They’d gotten surprisingly far in Newt’s little car. It was light enough and nimble enough to not get caught hung up on any of the stones on the little access road into the forest. It was still a very rough ride, since the unseasonably warm weather had sent the grass back to growing, so it hid ruts and holes. Anthony ended up needing help getting out of the back because all the climbing gear had fallen on him when it had dropped a wheel in a badger hole. They’d pushed it out and decided walking was a better idea at this point. Anthony suggested unpacking the gear and moving the car back out of the tree cover to somewhere plainly visible. 

“Wouldn’t the gear be safer in the car?” 

“Yes. But you’ll be safer with the car out there. A visible car tells people someone is out here. They’ll come look if it hasn’t moved tomorrow.” He gave Newt a hard look. “Make sure it can’t be moved by anyone but you.” 

Newt widened eyes slightly at that, but did as asked and they watched him pop the hood and pull one of the sparkplugs. It got tucked carefully away in a pocket as he came loping back. Ana was busy piling gear on Anthony like he was more than capable of carrying a load as heavy as the rest, which he appreciated. Ana herself ended up with th lightest load, but with all the things that needed to be handled carefully. 

Then it was just a matter of orienting themselves on the access road to try and find where the pit cut in the chalk was. It was hard going through the woods as there was so much wood down and the understory was choked with invasive knotweed stalks that caught at their clothes. They could find little half paths that faded in and out but really weren’t quite right for people to use and didn’t long go in the direction they wanted. They suddenly hit on a point where the dead knotweed had been knocked back as something large had moved through it. 

Ana froze, staring at the path. Newt looked along it more carefully before stepping back out. “Deer trail?” 

“Too big for roe.” Anthony crouched down to look at the ground, picking out little hoofprints obscuring something else’s prints. “They’re definitely using it, but this was something much bigger.” 

“What kind of _thing_?” Ana was now carefully looking around like something might leap out of the trees at them. 

Anthony kicked at what looked like a clump of dirt and it came apart, revealing half digested grass. He stared at the cracked stalks, all pushed over in the same direction. He saw a little flutter in the breeze and spotted a few long, pale tail hairs caught on some of the cane. 

“Horse and rider. This isn’t a bridal trail though. This was someone blazing a new trail to somewhere they knew precisely where it was. They’d probably been out here on foot before. This is the Palmer’s land… but the last of them is gone. Someone with frequent and unrestricted access then.” 

“Are they likely to still be here?” Newt was now also eying the forest, every little sound now suspicious. 

“No, this is old. A horse is conspicuous on a road, but once you’re in a field or on a trail, no one will pay it any mind. You probably won’t even remember what the person looked like, because you’ll be so focused on the horse.” 

“I’ve seen people on horses a few times. I was told the hunt club rides here sometimes. You’re right, I don’t think I would recognize them off a horse.” 

“Good cover. Can carry a lot of things in a horse trailer without anyone thinking about it. Hmm.” 

“I don’t like your _thinking_ noises.” from Ana 

“Just thinking about some of those other disappearances on Shadwell’s map. That weren’t mine. Mostly in the summer and fall. Harvest fair season. Been people there I… less said about that the better. Like recognises like. But I _live_ here.” He could feel an unfamiliar growl to his voice at that, one he’d always heard come out of someone else’s throat. 

Newt and Ana reluctantly trailed after him as he went along the path, putting a little distance between them. He could feel the beginning of that _purpose_ building in him. He could move surely and swiftly, knowing this path was leading him towards something he needed to _kill._

“Mr. Crowley? Mr Crowley! Where did you go?” 

“Don’t yell for him. We followed him into the woods… we’re idiots.” Ana was only faintly audible. 

He paused in his stalking and turned around. He _should_ be plainly visible. “I’m here.” 

Newt let out a little shriek, Ana went for the bread knife. “You did that before!” 

“Sorry. Got… focused. Not trying to sneak up on you. Or away. Been having a bit of a weird time recently.” 

“YOU DON’T SAY.” 

“Beyond the _usual._ I really don’t know anymore. But no, I did not lure you out in the woods. This is an awfully complicated plot to do that. I do… feel something though. Not directed at you.” 

“You look… different than yesterday.” She looked at his leg. “That pattern is spreading. Branching. You really aren’t human are you?” 

“I was.” He looked at his hands and the carefully covered scar. “Not so sure these days.” 

* * *

* * *

The pit was easy to find once they were close enough, the white chalk standing out clearly against the forest floor. But it would _also_ have been easy to miss if they weren’t standing in just the right place and knew what to look for. 

They threw ropes down the pit. Carrion crows came back up. The edges are packed with fine roots that looked like pale hairs that tangled up the rope so it required shaking out several times to get it all the way down. They couldn’t see the bottom with the gloom from the tree canopy and the angle. The edges had slumped in over time so they didn’t want to get to close in case it gave way. Ana checked the anchor and then flicked the rope again to get it untangled from obstacles lower down. 

“It’s all the way down now.” She gave it another snap to get the slack out. “Maybe 60 feet down. Should be an easy climb down for me.’ 

“I think I’m the one that needs to go down.” 

“Do you know how to rapel?” 

“No, not a bit.” 

“Well… we could do the tandem down but if there’s nothing down here, that’s a waste. I’ll just go take a peek.” 

“Is that a good idea?” He looks at Newt. Newt looks at him. 

“You’re leaving me with him?” in tandem. 

“Try to get along. Back in a few.” And she’s off down the hole. 

“She left me the knife.” Not that he has it handy, so it’s not much good. 

“It’s a rubbish knife and you know it. It’s also bloody illegal. Size of that thing! Good way to get deported, gets caught with that. Why are you letting her carry that around?” 

“How am I going to get it away from her? 

“Buy her a proper size, good knife as a gift and she’ll stop carrying around a bread knife..” 

“I CAN HEAR YOU.” came up out of the hole. 

“I’m not saying a knife is a _romantic_ gift, but tools, tools are a commitment. Says you want a life together. Getting something that lasts and you’ll use all the time.” 

“DO NOT TAKE RELATIONSHIP ADVICE FROM HIM.” 

“Sorry, I think I’m with her on that.” 

“See, smarter already. Side with her.” 

“STOP HELPING.” 

“Fine, fine. Knife’s still too big legally. There’d be paperwork. Be a mess.” Anthony crossed his arms and stuck his hands in his armpits to keep them warm. 

“I suppose you would know how not to get caught. And I rode around in the car with you all that time.” 

“Didn’t ask you to drive me anywhere for that. That’d be weird. You use a rideshare app for that.” 

“Are you getting a ride _to_ a murder or summoming someone to murder them?” 

“No, I’m pulling your leg. None of the rideshare apps want to come out to my place anyway. Road’s so rough.” 

“THERE’S A BODY DOWN HERE.” 

“It’s not mine!” 

“IT BETTER NOT BE OR SO HELP ME…” 

“No! You were right about the map. This isn’t mine.” 

“YOU CAN DEAL WITH THIS.” 

“Yeah, I guess I can. Not sure what I’m going to do exactly, but that’s my problem now.” 

“I’M CHECKING OUT A TUNNEL.” 

“Not that I’m telling you what to do as an archaeologist, but are you sure that’s a good idea to go in a tunnel with a dead body?” Newt sounded like he’s had a similar conversation at some point, thought hopefully without the dead body part. 

There was some muffled answer from down below and a minute of silence. 

“Should we… do something?” Anthony craned his neck to try and look down the hole. There were at least some flashes of light from the torch, so she probably wasn’t dead. 

“No, that was her “I’m a doctor” grumble She’ll be a little more cautious” 

“I HEARD THAT. I’M COMING UP.” 

Anathema took considerably longer coming up as she had to keep untangling herself from the grasping roots. She looked a little rattled despite the bravado. 

“I’m not used to fresh bodies. They’re not usually still… fleshy when I get to them. The crows have been at it. There was a colored rope around the neck. That was… “ 

“Not me. Whoever our horseman is did that. Need to have _word_ s with them.” 

“Are they” Newt made stabby motions with his hand “words?” 

“Probably. Won’t know til I _see_ them. Also, if I _tell_ you things, that starts becoming a conspiracy, so… don’t ask.” 

“I think we’re already _way_ past that. You left your map on my computer.” 

“Are we though? Maybe I’m just completely crazy.” 

“If you are, it's the kind of crazy that ends up with us finding a body down a hole on a map you drew.” 

“That Shadwell drew. Mostly. Also Newt helped.” 

“What? no! I did not help.” 

“I meant Shadwell. Fetching his papers for him every day.” 

“Okay, crazy man, do you want to find your Probably Husband or not?” 

“Not going to let that go, are you?” 

“Absolutely not. I hope he’s smarter than you because I have _concerns_.” 

“He’s more experienced at least.” 

“Not reassuring.” 

“I didn’t want to walk around down there too much because I don’t want to disturb the scene. We probably should call the police.” 

“You should. Maybe come up with a good reason you were out here specifically. 

“Archaeologist, climbing down interesting holes because they were _there_ is my job. I want to come back here once it’s all done. It’s definitely a denehole, not a marlpit so it's solid chalk, not a matrix. The tunnel and chambers should be stable. If I was actually working down here, I’d put in bracing in this access point, but the actual tunnels should be stable and safe to walk around in. Unless there’s a serial killer down there. Or your husband. If he also a serial killer?” 

“No! He’s never killed anything. He’s just… it’s very complicated. He’s not a killer, but he’s not harmless either. He might hurt you but not intentionally.” 

“It's fine, the tiger mauling me is friendly.” Ana was eyeing him. 

“He is friendly!… Well… he would be if he could talk to anyone else. He’s a little awkward. But, yeah, the accidental mauling is not a terrible comparison. I’ve lived through it every time.” 

“Remind me _why_ we’re looking for him again?” 

“Someone may be trying to control him and that’s why we’re getting this weird catastrophic weather. Also… I’m worried he’s hurt and scared and just want to take him home.” 

“Fine, looks like you get to go see this ritual complex first.” She huffed. “I should have stayed in America and investigated not-cursed archaeological sites. I can’t write any papers about most of this.” 

“Could write some good fiction, call it “inspired by a true story” Real spooky. Like one of them horror novels about haunted houses.” 

“Only under a different name. 

“Have Newt do it.” 

“Me?” 

“Why not?” 

“But it’s Ana’s research!” 

“And more people probably would read it as fiction than nonfiction.” 

“Hey! It’s very interesting research on myth cycles and pre-Christian ritual sites!” 

“Actually does sound interesting. Make a great one of those conspiracy thrillers. If you can work in the templars or the Holy Grail, be a bestseller.” 

“Not everything involves the Holy Grail or King Arthur, you have other myths!” 

“I’m just giving you a hard time. Returning the favor.” He sniffed slightly “If that’s alright. Give you a little sassing.” 

“Maybe. Stop being charming. We really should leave you down there and call the police on you.” 

“Didn’t one of those holy grail ones involve a king with a thigh wound?” 

Ana stared at his leg for a moment. “You better not have pulled the holy grail out of a sheep field and put curry in it.” 

“My farm is doing way too well for any sort of Fisher King nonsense. Or for him to be. It is _for_ him, I know that.” 

“Too small to be a cauldron. It sounded like some kind of offering bowl. ” 

“Yep. That’s how he referred to what was put in it. Offerings.” 

“And you just put _dinner_ in it?” 

“However many meals we got together in the time we had each time. I cooked whenever I could, but I’m not much of a baker, so that I tended to buy. And sat and ate together and talked.” 

“You said he’s usually insubstantial, how did that even work?” 

“Details you don’t want to know.” Parts of which even he himself was unsure of, even having done so many times. 

“Then how are you going to find him down there?” 

“I’ll just know. I’ve lived with him for years. And I’ll just talk to him. Figure out what I need to do to get him home. Then we’ll deal with whatever has kept him here. Or just banished him from elsewhere. One step at a time.” 

“How long do you need?” 

“I have no idea. If I’m not back by sunset… go to my home and feed my animals, please. You know what you’re doing.” He nodded at Newt. “They’re set up with extra for now. Be nice if you turn back up to see if you can retrieve me before calling police, but you really should for the body eventually. Give that family some closure. If I don’t turn up at all… there’s cash in the cocoa tin and my lawyer’s number. Call her and she can get funds released to pay for you to look after my animals until things are sorted or I’m officially declared dead.” 

“And what if we just leave you down there and don’t return?” 

“That’s on you. That’s your decision. Might be the smart one. But that’s one you’ll have to live with.” 

“What if we let you go down there and you _die_?” Newt’s concern sounded genuine. 

“Not worried about it.” He shrugged. 

“Cheated death enough times you think you can’t die?” Ana was eyeing him again. 

“Oh no, been honest with him this whole time. He’ll have me one way or another. Belonged to him a long time.” 

“And you want to bring him _home_?” 

“Very, very much.” 

* * *

* * *

He’s never rappelled before and never wants to again. It’s nerve wracking and irritating with Ana offering critique of his technique. He doesn’t even _have_ one to critique yet!. He’s glad when she can’t see him anymore. He gets tangled in the half gloom before falling a few feet with an undignified yelp. 

“Are you alright?” Newt sounds very far away now. 

“No. I hate this. I hate this so much. I can’t do this.” He’s spinning slowly. 

“Tie it off and we can pull you back up.” Ana sounds a bit closer, she’d run a second rope for her so she could get close to the edge without having to fear falling in. 

“No. I’m fine. I’m just stupid and nervous.” He looked down. He’s spinning because there’s no more wall to put his feet against. He’d found the tunnel opening. He’s only a few feet from the bottom. There’s an all too familiar shape at bottom. Ana had reset the rope up top so he wouldn’t come down on top of the body. 

The denehole floor was covered with leaves and fallen bits of wood. There were animal bones too, where things had misjudged a leap and fallen to their death. If they’d survived the fall, they eventually starved, unable to get out. There were a few small bones left. The ravens were bold enough to descend down here and pick up scraps. Just the large bones were left. But even these were chewed. It was a death trap to large creatures, but the little scurrying beasts saw a land of endless bounty. 

He drops the last few feet and gets out of the harness. He’s careful not to touch the human body. The corpse has been stripped naked and there’s a red cord wrapped round the neck. A great many things have been at the body already and the bones are bare in places. There’s a bright splash of blue on the ground. Hair. He remembered the young man from the poster and his parents asking to have it hung up. _We fought over this before he disappeared. If only we could take back those words. This is how he wanted to be seen. We wanted him to be normal. Now we just want him back. Please call us if you see him._ He would call when he got home, tip off the police anonymously if Ana and Newt let him go, didn’t bring the police here themselves. 

Something lingered. Fell had not come for this man either. He can feel some sense of what he should do to cut him free but the image is shifting and confused. He heard whispers in his ears but they are as incomprehensible to him as words were when he was a child. He knows the young man’s name, but does not _know_ him. He has no idea how to send him on his way. He needs Fell for this. He can talk to him, and hope that’s enough for now. 

“You’re dead. You should go if you can. I can’t do anything for you. I’m sorry. I don’t know how. That’s all I can give you. That bit of truth that you _are_ dead. It’s not a bad dream or a hallucination, you are dead. I saw your parents recently. They’re sorry. They miss you. Go home to them if that’s why you can’t leave here, that you think they won’t give you somewhere to rest. They cherish your memory. You don’t have to stay. If you can’t go on your own… I’ll bring someone back soon, I hope, that can help.” 

“Who are you talking to?” He can see a flash of light above as Ana tried to shine a torch down hole, but the angle was wrong. 

“I think the young man that vanished, Frank.” 

“Can you _do_ that?” 

“Maybe? That’s my husband’s job usually. I can’t do his job. I don’t hear anything back. I can just tell him to go, if he can. This was a bad death, so I don’t know if he can without being helped. That’s his job. That’s what he does.” 

“I hope you find him then, for everyone’s sake.” Newt sounds sincere, though still frightened. “Not sure I want to meet him though.” 

“You will eventually. Everyone does.” 

“Not helping!” from Ana. 

“Sorry. This is why this isn’t my purpose. Not very comforting.” 

“You were willing to try and that’s worth something.” Newt actually is comforting. “Good luck.” 

“I’d say don’t do something stupid… but… do stupid things for the right reasons. Seems to work out for you.” It mostly had. He didn’t regret the stupidest thing he had ever done. 

“Thank you!” 

* * *

* * *

The tunnel looms large and dark. The mouth is filled with leaves and out of season spring flowers, delicate little spots of color among the browns. There's a faint breeze coming out of it from the temperature differential. There’s a scent of _age_ that he has sometimes caught on Fell. 

There’s a tongue of dirt and leaves extending into the darkness, where the outside world has slowly claimed more and more of it. He can hear the transition as he moves from damp, rotting leaves to ones grown dry and brittle where the rain can’t reach them. Tree roots dot the walls, but don’t extend far. There’s nothing for them here. 

As the light fades, he switches to the clear glasses and puts his tinted ones away in the pack of supplies he brought. Where he’s going, he’ll need light, not to block it out. He clicks on the little LED torch. It’s bright and directional so he can see clearly without it bothering his eyes. He’s brought two, just in case. 

The sound of the ground changes and the floor _moves_. The floor teams with all the little creatures you’d find turning over a fallen log. Trying to skitter out of the way of an intruder. He can feel that sense of purpose starting to build in him again, like something has hooked a claw behind his sternum and is pulling him into the entrance. He wants to rush, but also, he’s concerned about what lies beneath the living floor. He nudges a foot through the leaves and kicks a leg bone into the mass. Little creatures scurry out of the way and he can slowly slide his feet forward. 

He remembers playing with woodlice when he was a young, watching them roll up like this. He remembers Mum and Da having a go round round about what they were called, with Mum insisting they were called granny granshshers and Da insisting on chisel pigs. They’d finally consulted a book from the library to solve the argument. He smiles down at them and nudges them out of the way. They’re wiggly but harmless. There was still the occasional little crunch as he’d moved a little too fast. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’m so big, you’re so small, I just want to go past without hurting you...” talking seemed to help. They didn’t seem to react to the words so much as the light and the sound of his voice, letting them know something was there and they should skitter out of the way. 

The moving floor petered out once he was away from the last of the leaves. The tunnel curved away and he realised he’d lose all bearings if it kept on like this. Just endless white tunnels bored through the chalk by people long dead. He had no idea what might be under here. It could be a few hundred yards. It could be miles. He’d brought supplies as if he’d be camped out for a whole day, stalking someone. He was. He was stalking Fell. 

It wasn’t long before he came to a point where he had to make a choice of which way to turn. He made a mark on the white walls with a stick of charcoal. It was unlikely this was laid out in a grid. There probably was some logic to it. He just didn’t know where he needed to go, other than to Fell. 

If this was his somewhere before coming home, then it likely had some connection to that image above. Or his pattern of killing. Some kind of great swirling design meant to keep some great thing in. Keep it _somewhere_. But he’d kept him _home_. Not this terrible and lonely place. Someone had sent Fell here. Why couldn’t he come home though? Maybe he was just lost. 

He would be too if he wasn’t careful. Ana and Newt might send people eventually, and would hopefully call the police to the denehole tomorrow if he didn’t return. He probably wouldn’t die alone down here. Fell hadn’t come when he killed. Might be unable to come to take him. Have to go find him that way then. He switched off the light and just let that sense of purpose wash over him. It had felt like he was being pulled here and his purpose had led him to Fell over and over. 

He tasted a sourness on his tongue and felt some pressure on his skin. All over and too faint to make sense of. He licked his finger and could feel the direction of air slowly slipping past him, towards the entrance. There was a smell of ancient blood in his nose like an old scab. He wasn’t sure he could literally sniff out Fell, but if he went the direction the breeze came from, perhaps. He shucked off his shirt and stood there in the darkness, feeling the whisper of that breeze across the hairs standing up on his arms and on the nervous sweat on his chest. He’d had decades of detecting Fell’s presence through his other senses. He’d need to rely on them now. 

He shivered in the darkness and tucked the shirt into his little pack of supplies. He wrapped it around the little thermos of hot tea to keep the shirt and the tea that much warmer. He pulled out a flask of water to drink while he got moving. 

He flicked the light back on and picked up his pack. He could use his other senses, but sight would let him travel further, faster. He set off at as quick a pace as he could maintain. Let him build up a sweat by the next time he needed to choose a turn. He could feel that pull of purpose urging him along and he broke into a lope. The next one he chose the turning based on that whisper of scent and feel of air stealing away the heat of his exertion. 

Occasionally he came to places where there was an outcropping of fungi, stinking of putrid flesh. There would be no flies attracted to them down here in the darkness, but still, life went on even in the depths. His movement stirred up little clouds of spores, floating in the beam of the torch. He didn’t look too closely at what the fungi was growing _on_. Something collapsed on the floor. Something the right size to be… This was why he was marking the walls. He’d brought a second torch for the same reason. 

He came to an intersection. The junction looked familiar, but he’d been marking his way through. There was a mark on the wall but it looked _ancient._ He stared at it. The same height and shape as he’d made, but it looked like it had always been here. He ran his fingers over it. He’d made this. He could _see_ it. He felt a slight shudder beneath his hand, a ripple as if he was not touching stone at all but some great beast instead. He HAD made this. He pulled his knife out and ran the tip along the scrape. Then drove it in as far as he could and made a great gouge into the chalk. 

There was a faint glow there now, that cold foxfire light he remembered from so long ago. He felt a whisper of air past him. 

“Where are you? I’ll come to you!” No answer. He closed his eyes and switched off the light. Stood there is silence, listening, hearing nothing but the blood rushing in his ears and there, somewhere off in the distance… some kind of strange noise. Not quite a voice, but something … intentional. _Something_ was here with him. 

Straight. This time straight. Well as straight as anything was down here. It was all curves and spirals, so he could only see a few feet ahead at any given time. He opened his eyes and saw that strange radiance from the wall had a soft rhythm to it, matching his own pulse. He swallowed nervously and switched the light back on so he didn’t stumble over something unexpectedly. He kept his hand on one wall, feeling the texture shift and change as he walked. He was afraid to look at it. He was afraid to pull it away either. Whatever was under his hand was not the chalk it should be. 

He tasted something sharp and sweet in his mouth and froze, that left the inside of his mouth faintly tingling. An all too familiar taste. The wall beneath his hand felt freezing cold but the air around him was moist and wet, like something breathing on him. He could hear himself panting and forced himself to relax. He switched off the torch. There was that pressure on his skin and he slowly removed his hand from the wall. Then carefully patted it. Caressed his hand along it ‘til it felt like stone again. 

“I’ll come to you! Just let me find you!” Silence again, but he felt a pressure to move. To go forward. He closed his eyes and switched the torch back on to keep from stumbling through an intersection without seeing it. He was fairly certain one was coming up, though he didn’t know why. 

This was a confusing one, where multiple paths came together. He could wander here forever. He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting that sharpness there. He was frightened but that had never stopped him before. 

“Tell me where you are!” He switched the light off and waited. There was a sense of a building pressure again, and he could feel a noise through his teeth. The air took on a stinking putrid edge of a bog turning over as something sank into it. It was everywhere at once and the air had gone still. 

“I know you’re here! If you need me to do this in the dark, I can! I can guide us both home that way! Just let me come to you! So we can go home!. Please.” 

The air moved around him and he felt it pulling at his hair and leaving him shivering. He felt that pressure on his flesh, that building purposes moving him. His tongue felt strange and alien, like something else lived in his mouth. His lips contorted and pulled away, and his tongue darted forward to touch his teeth. He shuddered as he repeated the motion. And then _knew_ as he felt someone else’s word in his mouth. 

He switched the light back on and strode to each of the other openings, making another gouge in the chalk, letting the glow spill out. Only the rightmost one was now unmarked. He rested his hand on the wall again, but for now it remained stone. He would not be frightened away and they both knew it. 

There was another similar collection of openings coming together, like a great wheel. There was a lump against one of the walls, covered in mushrooms. There was an ancient mark on the wall above it. Not the simple ticks he’d seen in other places, but something that looked all too much like the pattern he’d seen on the map he’d laid out. There was something long on the ground next to it, free of mushrooms but covered in a layer of spores and chalk dust. He gingerly went and picked it up and brushed it off. He had expected something metal and corroded and instead found a stone knife. The haft was long gone, rotted away. He picked it up carefully with a handkerchief, mindful of the razor sharp edges. He put it carefully into his pack, wrapped up so he wouldn’t stab himself accidentally later. 

He looked at the shape slumped against the wall, almost recognisable. This seemed too long ago for this to still be here. It should be gone entirely. But his own marks had seemed to age away too fast. Perhaps other things went much slower. 

He reached above it and stared at the mark, unsure what to do yet. _Something_. He went to the other openings and gouged out a cut, letting that luminescence spill out. Some of it seemed to be clinging to his hands now. He wiped them on his trousers, but it didn’t come off. He came back to the strange wheel like symbol on the wall. He needed to make a decision. He ran his hand around it, following the pattern of the map. Progressing through each season inexorably. An endless cycle, unbroken… except for these little marks across and away where it spun out and away, terminating suddenly. They went nowhere. They needed to be _somewhere_. 

He made his decision. He took the knife and went the wrong way around, and drew the knife through the whole circle, and kept going, dragging it along the wall as he walked, light spilling out of it as he went. He had no need for a torch now. 

He saw something pale ahead and it saw him. 

“Anthony!” 

“F..” 

“Ṇ̷̹̞͇̳̳̭͒̽͂̽͘͝͝O̴̙̪̘͔͈͇͈̖͐͊͗͠!̶̛̫͕͖̙̌͂̉̕” 

That command froze the name in his mouth. 

“Don’t say any part of that. Not here. Not now.” There was that growl to it and he could feel a thrumming through his feet. There was a patter of chalk flaking off the ceiling, leaving a haze floating in the air. 

He sniffed and could feel that warmth of blood on his upper lip. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tipped his head back. 

“K.” 

“K? That’s what you’re going with? _K_?” That familiar slightly irritated voice was what he most wanted to hear and he nearly sobbed. He’d been so _worried._

“What am I supposed to say, no, I think I’ll just not listen to you? When it's important enough for you to use The Voice on me? That _hurt_.” 

“Why are you _here_?” Fell sounded almost like his usual self, but there was a panicked edge to it. It was all a fascade. He might fall apart entirely, make Anthony look away from what he wanted to see most.. 

“Because _you’re_ here. I was worried when you didn’t come home.” 

“That’s not home.” It was said like it was supposed to be true, but lacked all the weight of something he actually believed. He knew what he _should_ say. 

“Home is where you _live_. With me. You remember that, don’t you?” 

“I... do. But… I remember this too. Old names. Old rituals. I’m not human. I never have been. We’ve just been playing at that. It’s _cruel_.” He sounded so terribly fragile now. 

“Have I been hurting you? Did I keep you there against your will?” He tilted his head forward and wiped the blood off his face. His hands were covered in that phosphorescence. He left the knife in the wall for now. 

“You’ve kept me… well. Too well. Gone _soft._ ” His voice had that strange overlapping quality from when they’d first met. Fell himself looked strange and unfinished, features not quite resolving. It looked like he was draped in pale fur clothing. Or that was actually his pelt. It was hard to tell. This might be closer to what he truly looked like. 

“Your hands were always soft. Even before I could talk to you. I _remember_. I saw you then. You do care. You’re so gentle. You’re so in awe of getting to touch something, you treat it like a wonderful gift. Like… like you’re praying to us instead of the other way around.” 

“Is that what you think I am, a god?” There was a terrible fragileness there, like somehow his answer could destroy him. 

“No. I’ve never bargained with you. I’ve _discussed_ things with you. I’ve sometimes asked you if you can do things, but I’ve asked you as a person. As my… you _live_ with me. You have a _life_ with me. A _home_ with me.” 

“You didn’t know what you were offering. You were so _young_. Now you’re… I never stayed with anyone this long.” 

“Were there others?” 

“Yes and no. They were…prepared… for me. Sent here.” 

“Sacrifices.“ He looked back up the tunnel. The figure at the mouth was mercifully out of sight 

“Yes. It was… it was terrible. Why would anyone _do_ that? I couldn’t give them what they wanted. I’m not a god. I just… am. I could put on a pleasant face. Something that wouldn’t make them too frightened. Make it less awful. I got good at it. I picked… I can pick a face that they will recognize as a person. That they’ll talk to at least.” 

“Did a bit too good a job. Been talking to you a long time.” 

“You weren’t supposed to see me! Or hear me! You weren’t prepared! I had to do something quickly!” Fell sounded so distraught. He went to physically pull himself together in an all too familiar gesture and he was there in his familiar pale earth tone suit with the waistcoat worn down from his anxious straightening. 

Anthony started chuckling and then just outright laughing. 

“What’s so funny? Anthony? _Anthony_?” 

“So you did…” He drew in a shaking breath. “You just threw on the first thing you grabbed and have been wearing that since then?” 

“It’s not funny!” He stomped his foot in the most ridiculously petulant manner. 

“I’m sorry for laughing. It’s not nice.” He pressed a hand over his mouth but his shoulders were still shaking. It was as much relief as genuine mirth. 

And then Fell was starting to laugh too. “It’s… it’s a little funny.” Giggles were making his whole form shake. “It was funny when it happened to _you_.” 

“Remember the time I jumped out of the shower and tried to pull clothes on inside out so I could get the package from the postman?” 

“And I had no idea why you were running through the house yelling! You scared me!” 

‘“Scared the poor postman into retiring between the two of us!” They were both just laughing hysterically now. Anthony couldn’t stop until he was panting for breath and had to lean over, resting his hands on his thighs as he took deep gasping breaths. Fell didn’t breathe so had no natural check on that and was now transitioning into what sounded much more like sobbing. 

“You can change you know. Pick different clothes. Pick a different face. Different hairstyle. Gosh is I still had the same hair as back then… You can do whatever you like. It’s okay. I don’t look the same.” 

“Yes, but, well, that’s because… you’re human.” Fell had almost gotten the sobbing under control, but this set him back off. 

“If you change faces for other people, you can do it for me. Pick something you like better. It’s still you.” 

“I… I like this very much. I like… I like the way you look at me. I want to stay like this. I don’t want… I don’t want to go back to the way things were. But this, this is me. What I was made for so long… it’s overwhelming.” 

“Can you tell me how long ago that was? When the hill figure was made?” 

“I wish that had been destroyed! I thought for once… I don’t like what that made me. I don’t want to be that. But I don’t have a choice. That is me. I am everything and _nothing_. It’s as close as you’ll get to my flesh.” 

“The chalk?” 

“It's… it's thousands of years of tiny creatures' skeletons stacked on top of each other. Death on death packed together til it forms the bones of the world. It’s… it has a great deal of power because of that. To shape me. Make me _be_ somewhere. I _hate_ it here.” Fell paused, realising what he’d said. 

“You don’t have to be here. This doesn’t have to be you.” 

“It does. It’s written. Carved in. This…” He gestured at himself, as Anthony knew him. “This is temporary. Just temporary clothes that don’t even hold me together. Don’t keep me from hurting you. It’s not real. I’m not a person.” 

“You’re a person _to me_. You’re worth knowing. You’re worth… loving.” 

“No. No. You can’t love _Death_. You can’t!” 

“Maybe not the entire abstract concept, but I love _you_.” He put every bit of sincerity he could behind it. No charm, no artifice, just truth. 

“It's just a _face_ you’ve never seen all of me.” 

“It’s a nice face.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of. When you saw bits of that… when I touched you… I _hurt_ you. You can’t _love_ me. You can’t!” That sob was back in his voice, overlaid with that grinding sound of him losing control of his voice. 

“What do you think love is?” 

“Not this. _No_. I’m to destroy you. Unmake… _you_.” His voice was so soft as if he had finally understood something he didn’t know he needed to understand. 

“And then I’ll be with you. I won’t fight you.” He matched that softness of tone. 

“No! No, you won’t be! You’ll leave me! You have to fight me! Fight death! You have to!” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You can’t hurt me, I’m DEATH.” 

“I can’t _kill_ you. I very much could hurt you. I think a lot of people have before doing… whatever this is. We don’t _have_ to do this.” 

“We do! I was made this way! There was an offering! You came down here! You have to fight me! I can’t leave until you fight me! And you’ll DIE!” He could feel that scream in his teeth. 

“Someday. Not today. We’ll figure it out.” 

“You don’t understand!” 

“I would if you’d just _talk to me_.” 

“You impossible….” there was that rumbling growl and then sharp cracks and pops as the form just couldn’t contain Fell anymore and he was once more _everywhere_. 

## “M̶̡͍̭̥̭̗͖̆Ā̶̖̙̭͚͎̌̔̃͂̃̚N̷̗̱̩̼̞͆̀!̶̨̳̦͉̦̬͒͑̓͠” 

There was a roar in his ears like an ancient ocean coming in after an earthquake, pushing debris ahead of it in a clattering tide of shells and bones lost in that darkness. He felt like his skin was being ground off and he wanted to scream at the pain of it, but his brain was sure he would die if he opened his mouth. He bit into his tongue and tasted the blood of it there. He was still very much _alive_. 

“I am! _Your_ man!” 

“I’m not taking you! I can’t I can’t but it’s my purpose and I can’t I can’t i can’t I’m lost I have no purpose if i don’t and I can’t I can’t. I am _nothing_ without purpose. Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ll be _nowhere_.” The voice felt like it everywhere at once, shaking every bone in him. 

“I want you to be somewhere. With me! I brought you an offering!” 

“I refuse to take you!” 

“I’m not offering _me_. I brought TEA!” 

“I’m not taking… wait did you say tea?” 

“I also have biscuits. With the pink icing.” 

“That is not how this works.” The voice was _outside_ him again at least.. 

“Do you want tea or not? I brought a thermos. We can have tea together. Just, stop trying to scare me. It’s not working.” 

“You _smell_ scared.” 

“I am scared FOR you, not of you.” 

“Nothing can hurt me.” It wasn’t a statement. It was a _prayer_. 

“But you’re acting like you can be _controlled_. Like you _have_ to do this. Can be made into something you’re scared of. Scared will hurt me.” 

“That’s my _purpose_.” He sounded heartbroken, as if he finally did know his purpose. 

“Not to hurt me. Or hurt anyone. You’re as much a part of the world as anything else. You do what you do because it's your purpose. I understand it.” 

“You only see it from the outside. You don’t _know_.” There was that edge of tetchiness he remembered from their first meeting and that had grown dear to him over the years. It made him smile. 

“I do now. You didn’t come when I killed. I had to do it myself.” 

“WHAT. I cannot be _replaced._ ” He was just so _offended_ , Anthony could picture what sort of gesture he’d be making with those perfect looking hands. 

“Not trying to. Really don’t want to. I got lucky it was easy. I figured out how to make the right cuts. It was messy. He went with just talking. I don’t know what I’d have done if he fought me.” 

“Are you alright?” There was a feeling of a presence coalescing, needing to be _somewhere_ again.

“

Mostly.” He pulled the ring off his hand, letting the wound show. 

“Whose mark is this!?! You’re MINE.” 

“And here you just said you didn’t want me. It’s mine. I did that to me. I didn’t have your knife. Had to improvise. Seemed… right. Messy though. I’d be a mess of these if I had to do your job.“ 

“I… you’re not mine anymore. I really am _nowhere_.” There was a rough sob to voice now but there was a hint of a form, shoulders pulled in tight, making the man shape smaller than normal. 

“I know what I’m offering now. I’m offering you my life. With me. To live it. But the living part of it. The small bits of the day to day living. Just talking. Listening to music. Getting books for you. Actually having my life instead of just my death. Be _somewhere_ with me, as long as you can. Let me _love_ you.” 

“I have nothing to offer you back.” 

“You have _you_ to offer me. As you. Not the concept of death. You, you the person. And whatever love you can give me.”

“I don’t have any to give.” 

“Then why are you so upset over the prospect of me dying?” 

“Oh.” 

“That’s what you’re going with, Oh?” 

“It’s not funny.” 

“Just funny when it's me, I know. I said we needed to talk next time I saw you and that was part of it. Now put on whatever face you feel comfortable with and let’s have tea. I’ll close my eyes while you do it. Give you a chance to get it just right. Show me you just the way you want to be seen.” And did just that. Not that it should actually matter, but it was what you’d do with another person. And Fell needed to know he was a _person_. 

“You were going to tell me that you _loved me_?” 

“I thought you knew all this time. But I finally realised you didn’t actually know because I hadn’t said it. So l I was gonna be direct about it. Because I was pretty sure you loved me too and that was why you weren’t coping well and didn’t know that was what to name that feeling” 

“No. No I didn’t.” His voice almost sounded human, just wasn’t being delivered by something with a human throat. 

“We’re both kinda dumb. Along those same lines… are we married?” 

“What? Yes. I think.” Now he did sound like he might actually have gotten body sorted. 

“Okay, I’m the dumb one now. When? Was it since I invited you home?” 

“Yes of course, you made me part of your home. I think that’s how marriage works? Formal invitation to join the household?” 

“Alright, we can both be really dumb in different ways.” 

“You didn’t _know_?” 

“You seemed sure I didn’t know what I was asking.” 

“Well, you didn’t.” There was that little fussy sniff there. He didn’t properly breathe and yet made these little _noises_. Ones Anthony absolutely treasured hearing. 

“Why on earth did you accept?” 

“Well … you’re right. No one talked to me other than to command or bargain.” 

“Seduced you with my blunt words and murder. Gosh, I was so awkward then.” 

“I was worse.” 

“You could have mentioned we were married.” 

“I couldn’t really once I realised times had changed. Customs are a bit different these days.” 

“I mean we’re both male. That’s different.” 

“Not really.” 

“So were people gay marrying Death all the time back in olden times?” 

“It’s not funny. It was… look at this place.” 

“I still have my eyes closed, so I can’t. Can I look at you? I meant it, if I have to keep my eyes closed, I will, but I’d like to see you too. I missed talking to you.” 

“I got the impression that you… missed me more than usual.” 

“Was the bed too much?” 

“It was _lovely_. No one wants me that close. Except you. I… you can look.” 

Anthony did just that in the cold glow. Fell had managed to get himself back into human form. Familiar yet unfamiliar The face was all the same, just something a little softer about how he held it. Some long held tension was easing. Not gone, but dispersing. There was that faint of phosphorescence in the blue of his eyes, like the flash in an animal’s eyes. 

The clothes were almost entirely the same, soft earth tones, but also subtly different. Realer somehow. He could see stitches now. Like Fell had finally figured out how clothes worked, not just what they looked like. The waistcoat was still worn, but it suited him. His hands rested over the wear, as if he’d spent all this time touching that bit of softness on himself because he had nothing else to touch. The tartan bow tie was new. 

Anthony smiled at him. “A tie?” 

“I felt like I should dress up a little.” 

“It’s sweet. It is good to see you. Wait, why CAN I see you? It’s been almost a month since I killed.” 

“Then how are we talking?” 

“You tell me.” 

“I have no idea! Well... maybe some idea.” 

“Can you actually tell me? 

Fell just pointed at the knife in the wall and then Anthony’s glow covered hands. 

“If we can just do that… that’d be a lot easier. Did you know that before?” 

“No. I’m just guessing.” 

“I feel like I’m ready to kill. Like I’m _supposed_ to kill. But I directed it like _that_.” 

“That’s how this ritual goes. Banish me down here as the sun returns after the darkest point of the year. Then send someone to fight me. To try and kill me and take my power.” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world but he could see his hands starting to move, to dig into his flesh, seeking some comfort in the soft texture of that worn waistcoat. His hands looked so, so strong, like they could tear apart anything they grasped. Including himself. “They named me just for this. To try and kill me. But they couldn’t.” 

“They just hurt you. Over and over.” 

“Yes. And then you found part of that name and….” His hands flickered and twisted, picking at himself again. 

“I’m sorry I ever called you that then. I knew it got your attention, but not what it _did_ to you. I’m sorry. What should I call you instead?” 

“I don’t know. It’s.. it’s not as powerful as it once was. Hearing just part of it...I’ve gotten used to it.” 

“You shouldn’t get used to me hurting you. I really do want to call you something else. Something you _like_. How’s husband?” 

“I’d like that.” His hands had switched to just stroking now, focused on soothing rather than destroying. 

“And someone called you down here?” 

“Sent. I was worried about the image being uncovered, that’s how it started originally. So long ago. Having a _form_. But I didn’t think anyone knew that name anymore. Knew what to do. It had been… centuries? I’m not very good with time. It passes, but it's uneven. Long enough for the forest to all be cut down and new trees to be planted and become so old people thought they’d always been there.” 

“Centuries. But they did it wrong. It’s a mess upstairs. It's like spring came right away, except it's still too dark for most things. Sweltering really. Trees never properly dropped their leaves and are trying to grow in new ones. Wood that came down in an ice storm is sprouting right out of the ground.” 

“That doesn't sound at all right. That’s not how this works.” 

“Good. Because I am _not_ fighting you. I came to bring you home.” 

“Can you?” 

“Said I had an offering for you. Let’s have that tea. Just talk it through.” 

“And biscuits?” 

“And biscuits.” 

Anthony dug in his pack and unwrapped his shirt from the thermos. He pulled it back on, glad for the warmth now that he was just sitting. He put thermos down and realised the pattern on it matched Fell’s tie. He’d taken it with him many times when he was stalking people. He dug down to find the offering bowl and the packet of biscuits. He left the carefully wrapped stone blade in the pack for now, but just touching it now, he felt something scrape along his skin. That purpose hadn’t left him yet. But first… tea. 

“No sugar. I was out of proper cream, so it's just milk.” He poured some of the tea in the bowl and tucked a biscuit carefully in it so it stuck out. He closed his eyes and picked it up so Fell could take it from his hands. 

“Thank you.” The weight was lifted from his hands and he could hear the scrape of the biscuit being taken out of the tea before it became a soggy mess. He heard him take a delicate sip and make a pleased little hum. He also heard the less delicate little lapping noises that were a reminder that human form was just a fascade. 

“You’re being very patient.” He’d been expecting that growl of a slipping form, but he sounded so _human_.

“There’s no timeline we have to follow. So we can go as fast or slow as you like.” 

“There _is_ a timeline though. You’re human. You will die if we stay here.” 

“That’s why I brought supplies and marked my way down. We can walk out. Together. Climb might be a bit dodgy, but we’ll sort that out when we get to that part. You just have to come with me. If you can.” 

“I don’t know if I can. Without fighting you.” 

“Did people actually _fight_ you?” 

“No they just… they just died. Lost and alone and frightened. Of me.” 

“Well I’m not lost. I’m not alone. And I’m not frightened. I’m right where I’m supposed to be. With you. And the only thing I’m scared of is someone else hurting you again.” 

“There’s also that. They know my name. They can send me _back_.” Now his voice was slipping again, but it was less a growl and more a tremor. 

“And I’ll come fetch you again, if needs must. But I _can_ find them before then. Stop all this. They were stupid enough to stalk me once. I will find them. Then you can have _words_ with them.” 

“I… I’m not sure I can do that. Do I have to?” That tremor had gotten worse. 

“Did you want another biscuit?” 

“Yes, please.” He reached out blind, confident Fell would move the bowl to where it needed to be. His wrist bumped against the edge and he put another one in there. He waited until he heard the biscuit being eaten before he responded. 

“You don’t have to confront someone that hurt you. I sent one person on. I can do another if you _need_ me to.” 

“I can’t ask you to do any of that.” He sounded surer of that. 

“I’m _offering_ to try. But I can also _not_ do that. If it would be worse if I did. It’s your choice what to do about it. “ 

“Is it?” He sounded so terribly uncertain. 

“It’s a discussion. We’ll do what right for you. If what I’ve offered is the wrong thing, it's not a choice between this or nothing. Just talk to me. I really hate the idea of leaving them alone. But if you need time before seeing them… I can wait.” 

“You’d really do my job for me?” 

“For that one at least. But I’d rather _help_ you. I don’t know what I’m doing. You do. Can _do_ that however you like. Help me help you.” 

“Is that what love is?” 

“What? Murdering people that hurt your husband?” 

“No. The… discussing how to help.” 

“Some of it, yep. Lot of it really is just talking. We’ll do what’s right for you. I don’t get to make that kind of decision for you, even if I have strong opinions about the subject. You’re the one that was hurt. You get to decide what help to accept.” 

“Yours. I want yours.” 

There was silence between them, but it was companionable. Fell finally shifted and put down the bowl, carefully placing it between Anthony’s crossed legs. He was careful not to touch him.. 

“You can open your eyes again.” Anthony did so and found Fell had gotten as close as he dared. He wasn’t looming this time, just getting as close as he could without touching. It would have been uncomfortably close for a human, but Fell wasn’t and was finally letting more of that show. 

“You’re very handsome.” That luminescence in eyes had spread to his face and tops of ears and Anthony realized Fell was _blushing_ slightly. It was so close to human while also being clearly alien he couldn’t help being charmed. 

“I like the way you look too. I’m glad you’re letting me see you.” 

“This old thing?” 

Anthony laughed at that. “Going to keep it then?” 

“Maybe with some adjustments. Maybe you’ll help me with them?” 

“Anything you need. I’m yours. I really am.” 

“You really are….” He looked over Anthony’s face, apparently searching for something and _finding_ it. His smile was so genuine and open, it didn’t matter how sharp his teeth were. 

“You gave yourself to me without realising what you were offering. You gave me a home. With you. And you didn’t expect anything back except me. I didn’t realise there was any of me to give. Not til I gave it to you. I… do love you. You gave me the words for that too. What a wonderful offering.” The words were tinged with awe. 

“It's important. To be able to communicate with someone else. To feel you’re understood. That you aren’t alone with your feelings.” 

“I think… I do have something to offer you. So I can stay with you. but...I don’t know what will happen exactly.” 

“Well make me an offer. We’ll discuss it. Not bargain. Just discuss what’s right for us.” 

“You said you cut someone free. How’d it go?” This wasn’t quite where he thought this conversation had been going. 

Anthony sniffed and made a face, trying to reorient himself. “I really didn’t know what I was doing and wasn’t sure I could do the end part. Sorted it out.” 

“So you know what that requires.” 

“Yes.” He very much did. 

“And I believe taking my name is considering marrying me, if I understand the idiom.” 

“You’re… offering me your name. Your actual one.” He could taste a sweetness building on his tongue and even feeling that purpose building between them, had difficulty believing it. 

“The one that could summon me. Control me. What I was named without asking for. It's what you need to… well you can’t kill me. But you could kill that version that I used to be. Strip that away like I do for others. Leave just this one. Just this me that’s your husband.” 

“Gosh.” 

“You’re so _eloquent_.” 

“I’m just… processing. It’s… quite the offer.” 

“You changed your name at least twice.” 

“Yes. So I know how much that means. Do you _know_ my original name?” 

“Yes .I… think I can offer you that? Do you want it?.” 

“No.” He shook his head firmly. 

“That was… fast. “ Fell had pulled back a little, uncertain now. 

“Those people didn’t make me. I don’t know what they were trying to make. Not me. I’m… The man I killed without you. Erik. I killed him there at that house. And you didn’t come. And I realised I cared more about the future than past wounds finally.” 

“I want that too. That future. Even if it's uncertain what it will offer.” 

“If I take your name… I can kill you but that leaves you without a name. Even if it was a name that hurt you… I can’t leave you without a name and the one I’ve known you as, it’s part of that ancient name.” 

“It’s close. That’s… I hadn’t considered that.” 

“What if I give you mine?” 

“I already _know_ your name.” 

“But what if I actually _give_ it to you. Then we really are married.” 

“Yes, but that’s _your_ name.” 

“What if I give you just the J?” 

“What did you ever intend for that to be?” 

“I didn’t know. It’s just a J. You can make it whatever you like.” 

“Hmmm. How about we share that one. You get all of mine, and we’ll just share that one.” 

“Okay. Are you… sure?” 

“You can’t actually kill me.” 

“I can remake you. Wound you. Again.” 

“Watching you get better… sometimes that’s what has to happen. You have to face pain to be able to ease it. And I trust you. You’re a killer, not a sadist. You’ll listen to me. You understand me. I can talk you through the actual process.” 

“That’s… okay. Let’s do this before I get too nervous. Do you just… tell me?” 

“No. That’s… not here. That might trap you here too. Maybe make you take my place. So I need to tell you but not tell. You know some of it.” 

“I can feel your voice in mine sometimes. Can you do it like that? I think you told me before where you were.” 

“I was… conflicted before. It wasn’t very clear. It needs to be clear. I think I need to touch you. It will hurt.” 

“Sometimes you have to put up with some pain to get better. I can do that. For both of us.” 

“So what are you offering me, Mr. Anthony J Crowley?” 

“I’m offering you a life. A real one. With all the pleasures and pains and aggravations of that. I’m offering you music. And books. And dinners. And I’m also offering you pain. And feelings you don’t understand yet but will some day. And I’m also offering you boredom. And days where you’re annoyed with me and ask why you put up with my terrible jokes. And I’m offering you an answer why. To know what love is. What happiness is. What it is to be _somewhere_. What it is to be someone. And I offer to let you share part of my name so you can do that. I offer you just the J. Which gives you room to grow into whatever it is you need to be.” 

“Not sure death can _grow_.” 

“You already have. You’re different than when I met you. Everything that dies passes on and becomes part of something else on earth. The rabbit becomes the fox. The fox becomes a tree. A tree becomes a house for people for a long time before it passes away, but it too becomes something else. The people dig up the chalk and spread it on the field and eat the crops. And then become the grass that becomes the rabbit. Death _grows_. Always has. Will you take my offering to grow with me?” 

“I will make my offering to you before I accept yours. We should both understand what we’re offering this time.” Fell considered for a moment, just looking at Anthony’s face. The worry lines on Fell’s face smoothed away as his face just softened. Anthony bit at his lip at being looked at so closely. With such _reverence_. 

“I offer to forget the name of the boy I knew of but never knew. So I will only know the name of the man I _do_ know. I offer you my company. I offer to talk to you. I offer to live with you, whatever that means. I am eager to find out. I offer you the chance to understand me. To help me understand myself. To help make me… me. To help make you… you. I offer you one of my names, the one I never wished to have. I offer you the chance to kill some part of me and let it go. Let it truly _die_. Let it grow into something else. Maybe a rabbit. I’d think I’d like that.” 

Fell ducked his head for a moment and when he looked back at Anthony, made sure he could see his face. His _true_ face. 

“I… don’t offer you my love. Not like this. I want to… I want to offer you that every day. So it can change with time and season and not be a static, dead thing.” 

“I think I’d like that.” Anthony sniffed a little. He wanted to move to wipe at his eyes, but couldn’t without bumping into Fell, so had to just let the tears fall uninterrupted. 

“Oh, and I’m offering to be your husband too. ” Fell smiled at him and seeing that on his true face made him break into a smile of his own. 

“Me too. Let’s be clear on that. Husband. Can’t believe I forgot that part.” The grin turned a little sheepish at that. He looked like the biggest idiot, and he didn’t care because that was one of the things Fell loved about him. 

“You didn’t realise we were married the first time. You’re a _disaster_.” 

“Customs really do change. So it wasn’t clear to me at all. Wait, is that why you have a ring?” 

“No, just looks nice. But I think we accidentally match now.” 

“We deserve each other.” 

“You married me.” 

“I have terrible judgement” 

“And in your terrible judgment, will you accept my offering?” 

“Yes I will. Will you accept mine? 

“I would love to. Would love to love you. As long as I can.” 

“Is that all we have to do to accept each other’s offerings? 

“No. We should both drink from the bowl. Usually it was filled with something like blood.” 

“ _Ew_. And here I’ve been putting oatmeal in it.” 

“I prefer the oatmeal. But, really, ew? You’ll flense a man, but drinking blood, _that’s_ gross.” 

“I don’t put other people in my mouth. Blood from earlier will have to do. That’s mine.” 

“You do look a bit of a fright. But the tea will do. It’s what you offered me earlier. Give me yours first, then I’ll give you my name. And you can destroy it.” 

Anthony poured the rest of the thermos of tea into the bowl and offered it to Fell. “Will you accept my offering and be my husband?” 

“Yes.” He was careful not to touch Anthony’s hand as he took it and tipped it back to take a sip. There was a faint thrum through the ground. “That does feel… peculiar.” 

“Good peculiar, bad peculiar?” 

“I feel… more present than I have in… since I got sent down here. I’m _somewhere_ , but somewhere I can leave from. With you.” He smiled at him again and even knowing what was coming, he looked at peace. “And you, will you accept my offering and be my husband? Again.” 

“Come off it. But yes. I will.” Fell handed back the bowl and he drank the dregs out of it. It tasted a bit stale and metallic, and it was tinged with blood on his lips, but he could think of nothing that had ever tasted better. 

“I need to touch you to give the name to you. Where would you like?” Anthony considered for a moment 

“Can we just… hold hands? I’ve always wondered what they felt like. They look so soft, so strong. Complicated and contradictory, like you.” 

“Holding hands sounds lovely.” Fell held out his hand, palm up. It looked very soft and inviting. He could see some faint lines starting to form on skin, telling him where he’d need to cut on Fell. To destroy that ancient name. 

“You don’t have a life line.” 

“A what?” 

“On your hands. For palmistry. Supposed to tell you how your life will go. Makes sense I guess. You were never alive and can never die.” 

“Do you have one?” 

“Yeah.” He flipped over his narrow hands, roughened with calluses. The ones from using knives particularly noticeable. “It’s this one” as he traced over the line with all its strange breaks and interruptions. 

“What’s it mean?” 

“That I’m about to make terrible decisions.” As he flipped it over and laid his palm against Fell’s 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue contains the characters keeping those vows and effects of taking each other's names.  
> MORE HAND HOLDING. The worst dad joke. ugly sweaters!


	10. Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The effects of giving themselves to each other. Living is sometimes the hard part.
> 
> A new name. A new life every year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anthony has various nonhuman features, mostly undescribed  
> Anthony is in sufficient pain he cannot do anything but rest  
> Pain is implied to to be intense and cyclical. It will pass  
> Anthony currently blind, like a snake about to shed  
> Body horror- unable to keep a human form  
> Body horror- lost tooth  
> Mortality  
> Planning a murder  
> Non-specific child & spousal abuse/neglect (the Dowlings)  
> Temporary main character death

## Years Later

Joshua had been in the kitchen, singing softly. He’d just started doing that this year, halting and uncertain and in the wrong key. It was always slightly off, haunting and strange and Anthony cherished every time he got to hear him practicing, finding his own voice instead of mimicking someone else’s. He’d stopped and then there were halting footsteps coming through the house 

“Josh said I could read to you, so long as I didn’t turn on the lights, just used the little torch.” He hadn’t expected the boy. He’d seen no one in person for weeks, grown too strange for even the politest people to ignore. Too strange even for whatever power ran through him to let him pass unseen. 

“I’m not very good company right now.” He could hear the rasp in his voice, how old and worn he sounded. He’d still been speaking to people on the phone up until a few days ago, as his voice started to warp. 

“You sound… bad.” 

“I’ll feel better in a few days. Everything hurts. Light bothers me. Makes noise.” 

“Lights can make noise?” 

“Sometimes. Josh gave you the little LED one? That’s fine. Just don’t shine it on my face. My eyes feel horrible.” 

“That’s what he said. Are you… you were sick like this last year.” 

“And the year before that too. And before you met me. And I got _better_. Just that turn to cold and trees dropping their leaves. Spend almost all of December too sick to go out. Used to it by now.” 

He heard the tentative sound of footsteps and Warlock settling into a chair near the couch. He couldn’t see any sign of the light through clouded over eyes, so the boy probably couldn’t see him at all. Hopefully. Just the pages of the book and his own hands. They’d bought heavy blackout curtains the second year, when they realised this would keep happening. 

It was nice to have the boy stop by, but today… today was risky. This was when he looked least human. When exactly in November he stopped being able to pass entirely varied from year to year. He didn’t want to scare him. He dozed for a little bit, letting words just carry him away somewhere else for a bit. He’d always liked this book, even if it was probably too scary for children. They always got tricked by the rabbit on the cover. Joshua certainly had been. It was the first book he’d bought by himself, without Anthony there to handle the ritual small talk at the till. And now he’d given it to Warlock. 

_“... you may find the ears slightly strange at first, I put a little starlight in them, but it is really quite faint: not enough to give away a clever thief like you.”_

He shifted on the couch under the heavy blanket, trying to find a less painful position. There was an audible pop as he felt something split in his feet. The flare of sharp pain was a relief after the last month of building discomfort, his body unable to hold that power, an echo of what had once afflicted Joshua, before they’d offered themselves to each other. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand ‘til this was over. Again. 

“Are you okay?” Warlock paused on reading. 

“Joints are loud, s’all.” He sounded really tight and there was a hiss in his voice. 

“Should I get Josh?” 

“Nothing to do for it right now. You can go if you like. It's the end of the chapter, if I remember right.” 

“But you’re hurting. I could read another at least.” Warlock sounded as if he had stepped closer, to check on him and see if he really was okay. 

“That did help. Nice hearing your voice, even if I fell asleep on you. I’ll be better later, just need to ride it out.” He gritted his teeth and could feel one wobble. He pressed at it with a tongue and felt it slide free. It was a relief. He’d been stuck with that damn thing since October… he pressed a hand to his mouth to pull the offending fang out and hold it hidden in his palm. He could taste blood in his mouth. 

“Y’know maybe you should fetch him.” 

“I hope you feel better.” 

“I will. Be a new man when you see me. Go ahead and read ahead in the book. Don’t have to wait for me.” 

“Okay. I hope you feel better.” There was the sound of feet moving away. 

“Josh, he wants you.” 

“One of your shadows is by the gate. Go out back and around the tree. Follow the Christmas lights and you’ll go right to the cut over without being seen. Mind Cochon.” The big boar knew Warlock well enough now he’d be safe so long as he didn’t startle him, but he had no love for the skulking men that liked to talk into their sleeves. Securing a perimeter on land that wasn’t theirs and chasing a boy back to a house that wasn’t a home. 

Warlock was out the door, hunched and running along the fence line in the gloom. He couldn’t move unseen the same way they could, but Joshua’s gift went with him. He’d make it back to the place he slept by dinner. Today that gift was so powerful it might be enough to deflect away the Dowlings attention entirely, so they never realised he’d been where they'd forbidden. If not… well. Things could be done about that. 

“Do you want to stay here or go upstairs?” Joshua was here, soft hands careful of doing anything more than letting him know he was there. 

“Upstairs. I’m getting too tall for this couch. I liked this couch, stupid that I’m outgrowing a _couch_.” 

“You _are_ all legs and elbows. Tuck in so I don’t bang you.” 

He grumbled a little and struggled to sit up. He was all hisses and whimpers. He managed to get himself upright so Joshua could bend over and let him get arms around his neck. And then was being picked up and held firm against him. He was so strong now at the solstice, like Anthony weighed nothing. He could carry away anyone he wanted. Right now he had no trouble carrying a full sized more-than-a-man up the stairs. He cradled him close, like he meant everything. And he did. 

He got him settled down in the bed upstairs, flipping back the covers to get him under the electric blanket. “I’ll be back in a moment dear, just had something in the oven.” 

“M’not that hungry.” 

“You’ll be ravenous later if you have nothing now. Make it worse.” It was true, he was always desperately hungry when he was restored to his human form, looking just as he had when he’d taken death’s name. It was starting to attract attention, but there were enough old timers around that saw the foxfire flash in his husband’s eyes and whispered to younger folks to not ask too many questions. 

He huffed slightly. “I’ll eat. Here.” He pressed the tooth into Joshua’s hand. 

“What should I do with this?” 

“I don’t know. I’m gonna lose it in the bed. Wish the other one would come out. When I find out who started that vampire rumor… can’t even blame Shadwell for that one anymore. Unless he’s gotten way better with the ouija board. I do not want to have these grow in again. _Awful_.” 

“They were a tad awkward. The run up to Halloween seems to really accelerate the shift, but no one notices until after. They think you just love being spooky. Be nice to have you fresh again.” 

Anthony reached out to run his hand over Joshua’s face. “Be nice to see you again.” 

“I know. You’ve gone longer, but I hope the rest makes up for that.” He could feel the smile and he traced along the little lines by his mouth. He’d been letting more of them accumulate and stay with each of his own shift. A tiny offering back to the one that made them. Joshua’s skin was cool under his fevered hands. He had no heat of his own, but didn’t seem to actually get cold even with only an approximation of a body. 

“Better for everyone else this way. I just wish I wasn’t ITCHY.” The pain was actually more manageable than the sense of his skin not quite fitting anymore. 

“Sun’s been down a few hours. Only have to wait til sunrise.” 

“I didn’t think it was that late.” 

“Warlock was a good distraction. Now I’ll be right back with another.” And he was up and away. He could hear him running a hand along the wall to make a noise as he descended the stairs, but there was no sound to him actually stepping on the treads. Both of them had to pay attention to not move totally silently. But he had other concerns today. 

Anthony burrowed under the blanket, the direct heat feeling wonderful despite how warm he already was. He could never get enough of it on his last day. He dozed again, just having been carried upstairs having stolen more of his strength. 

Then the bed was dipping under the weight of someone else and he could smell what Joshua had been fetching. He didn’t bother getting out from under the covers yet, he would be able to hear him just fine regardless. 

“You should have some too.” 

“Tomorrow. These are all for you. I don’t need anything more right now or I’ll need bigger trousers again.” It had been a few years before Joshua had figured out how to wear human clothes without losing them. He still occasionally forgot to take clothes with him when he had to leave to attend to his duties. He’d just vanish from where he was standing and leave a pile of clothes behind. Anthony just retrieved them from the yard whenever that happened. Now that he could reliably wear clothes, he bought things entirely based on the texture. He still favored earth tones, but he owned some truly _hideous_ jumpers that he’d touched and _had_ to have. Anthony loved touching them too, but also loved complaining about how ugly they were. 

It had been a few more years before his form approximated a human well enough to have it behave _like_ a body. To accumulate the little marks of a life being _lived_. Anthony took very good care of him and he seemed delighted to flaunt that care that was lavished on him most of the time, but now he was entirely focused on caring for Anthony. 

“Probably need hems let out on mine again. Why do I keep getting _taller_ , what part of any of these stories says anything about my height?“ Most of the changes fell away after the solstice, leaving him looking human most of the year, but some seemed to be settling in as permanent features. 

“Possibly the _looming_. Taller you are the less likely you’ll meet someone you can’t loom over. If you must look more than human, unusual height is probably the least annoying option.” 

“That makes some sense at least. Just going to be bumping my head on things again. I never, ever want fangs again though. Kept getting my own lip.” He pushed at his teeth again and tried to feel if the other one was ready to come loose. It’d be gone in a few hours but he was impatient for it all to end. Let Joshua strip the old year off him and all the fearful stories stuck to him, warping him into some kind of nightmare. He’d taken death’s old name and made it part of his own. But as that old power grew in him each year as the nights grew longer than the days, belief warped him into a terrifying figure made up of all the tales of what stalked the area. 

He got most of the year as just a man who’d married death, the rest as some _thing_ else. They were still figuring that out. Each year was similar, but subtly different. A familiar dance with a different tune each time. He no longer had to kill to keep Joshua by his side or even visible to others, but that driving _purpose_ had never left him. He just worked _with_ his husband now, preparing people for him. So if they saw him at all, they saw Anthony coming for him in all his terrifying glory and thus were ready to be received into Joshua’s gentle hands that could set them free. 

And in between, they lived mostly human lives offering what they had to each other. Anthony could feed him the beasts he raised to keep him in flesh and blood and bone. Joshua had no such skill with making and taking life but had figured out that since all things came to him eventually, they were in some way _his_. He couldn't take things out of their season, but freely offered, he could give them back to Anthony and keep him just as well. 

Now he sat on the bed shucking chestnuts for his husband. Carefully gathered and roasted for him. A whole potential life packed into a tiny shell, now offered to a dying husband to carry him through the darkness to emerge renewed. There was no terror there. He’d died several times now. The period leading up to it was more painful some years than others, but the actual stripping away was a quiet triumph. 

“There, now that you’ve eaten, you won’t be such a bear in the morning.” 

“I absolutely do not want to be a bear. No more fangs. No claws either.” 

“You’d be warm and cuddly then.” 

“I’m warm and cuddly now.” He snaked the good arm out from under cover to tug at Joshua. 

“I won’t be too cold?” 

“Not once the electric blanket warms you up.” 

Joshua got up and undressed before sliding under the covers. Anthony wrapped himself around him. He shivered slightly at the chill. He was like a great stone altar, leaching the heat and life from him. He snuggled close anyway, enjoying the softness of that not quite flesh. 

“What should I call you tomorrow?” Joshua had cycled through many J names now, trying to find one that fit. He shed them or kept them at the turning of the seasons, depending on how long he felt like they suited him. His official documents listed his name as J. Crowley, with no indication what it had been before they married. Dagon had sighed mightily at the absolute _mess_ he’d made in marrying someone undocumented that didn’t even want to tell her his deadname, but had been sympathetic to him still struggling to find a name to _live_ with. He couldn’t get a passport, but she’d managed to get him enough documentation so no one was likely to try and get him deported. 

“I think I might keep this one for another season.” 

“Gosh, Josh.” 

“I’m _almost_ tired of that joke, but not quite yet. It’s rather grown on me.” 

“This will be the first one you’ve kept more than a year then. Like the joke that much?” 

“It’s terrible, but I love you anyway. It… feels good that my name can _be_ a joke.” 

“You’re letting more of the laugh lines stay.” He snaked a hand up to trace the contours of that face. His fingers lingered at the corner of his eyes. He didn’t actually seem to age at all, despite all the years that had passed. Just grew more comfortable with a form of his own choosing. The little shifts had been enough to fool others for now. 

“I can _feel_ them come in sometimes. When you’ve made me very, very happy. And I’ll always take an offering of joy.” 

“You make it easy. You make me happy and I just want to share that back with you.” 

“You truly do give me life.” 

He dozed again, enjoying being held even as he felt that life slipping away again. An offering to someone that wasn’t a god from something that wasn’t either. They were both in between now, never wholly of this world or whatever came after. They were dependent on the world and what it had to offer, but aware that by their _new_ nature they could, and should, offer something back as well. 

“I’ll be able to _see_ again soon.” The period of total blindness was the worst part. He could still get around the house and farm just fine, but they had to rely on others to drive them. Fortunately most things could get delivered these days. 

“Get up and do all the things you’ve been putting off.” 

“I have been putting things off. Gave things time. See how they turn out with a little encouragement, a little _discouragement_.” He’d made many offerings over these past few years, watching and waiting as the seasons passed. Seeing which ones were accepted. Which one brought change. If any. Warlock had grown stronger and more resilient, but there was only so long he could wait. 

“You gave him quite the fright last year. I don’t think the experience taught him anything though.” He’d bent the stories _to_ him that year, letting them stick to him ‘til he had what he thought he needed. A terrible omen about what was coming if Thaddeus did not take heed. He’d been blind by that point but his other senses had made it easy to stalk through the halls of that estate unseen until he found his target. Let Thaddeus see the _monster_ in his own home that was wearing his face and spoke with his voice. 

“I tried. Been trying.” He wasn’t very good at it. But he was _trying_. Had spent the part of the year he had as just a man trying very hard. Offer the hand first, the knife only as a last resort. 

“You have. I have. He _hasn’t_.” Warlock had been forbidden to visit them since Halloween. It hadn’t stopped him, but his shadows knew where to look when he went missing. 

“You don’t think I should try anymore. That’s why you invited Warlock in today.” 

“You have… other talents.” Sometimes he would make sure Anthony saw specific people, but he never directly _asked_. 

“I wish I could _ask_. He’s a _boy_. Is this what he _needs_? That’s… too big a decision. Too great a burden. I think he loves him… but I _know_ that man doesn’t love him.” 

“What about her?” 

“I don’t know. I really don’t. It comes and goes by season. Like it could go either way. Maybe it's what she needs. She’d tell me no, even if it was. Both at once… there’s something to be said for it being cleaner that way, but it doesn’t feel _right_.” 

“I trust you will know when it does. If it ever does. How soon?” 

“Be harder as the man, but I’ve had a lot of practice. Convenient that they wanted to move out here, away from all of London’s endless cameras. Be safe from the government and tabloids and judgmental eyes in the nice, peaceful country.” 

“Still, it is not without risk. I will come with you. I think I will likely have to fight him.” If Joshua came with him, no one would notice them until it was all over and there was nothing but an empty shell of a body to dispose of. He wasn’t sure if it would be kinder if he disappeared without a trace or was confirmed dead quickly. Either way, he would make sure the ones he terrified saw nothing. They already knew monsters existed. They didn’t need to see what could rip one from this world. 

“Seems the type.” He was silent again. Talking was growing difficult. So his husband did all the talking, while gently stroking him. Told him a story about everything they’d done this past year. Going to the fair and seeing Wensley’s New Zealand white buck had won a ribbon. That unseasonably cold day at the regional theatre where they’d sat on the lawn, wrapped up in a blanket. A great many brunches. They preferred eating at home most of the time, but brunch, brunch was worth making an outing of for cocktails. That yoga class he’d been talked into where Joshua hadn’t realised he wasn’t supposed to be that flexible and had spooked the teacher. The beautiful teapot Ana and Newt had sent them from Romania for Christmas that he had touched but hadn’t seen the colors of yet. Lovely memories to hold onto in the darkness. 

He carefully pulled the black ring off Anthony’s stiffening fingers, revealing that bright bit of glowing flesh, pulsing along with a slowing heart. Anthony could see the flare of the knife, even through clouded eyes. 

“See you soon.” It brought him such joy to see his husband’s face in the new year’s light. It had been terrifying that first year, not knowing what was happening, if he would be able to stay, but now, it was a familiar ritual. 

The pain was fading and he just felt numb. The heat had left him now and even with the electric blanket he was chilled through. The knife bit into his flesh and he could feel that last bit of life passing to his husband. A whole year of the life he’d offered, full of pleasure and pain and so much love. A twist of the knife and everything that wasn’t _him_ was stripped away. His husband had spent all year helping him become more _him_ while doing the same himself. They understood each other perfectly in this moment, the man and what had never been one. And as the sun rose, death offered himself to him for another year and he accepted that burden of _living_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote is from "Watership Down", when Lord Frith restores El-ahrairah after he went to the Black Rabbit’s (death's) burrow. 
> 
> FINAL NOTES:  
> Snuff is the name of Terry Pratchett’s Pig! [ a gloucester old spot.](https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2012/jun/07/terry-pratchett-bollinger-wodehouse-prize)  
> Snuff's passed on is this epilogue. Cochon is their new boar, which is french for Pig. J. was still trying to get the hang of naming things.  
> St. Anthony of Padua is the patron saint of lost things and lost people  
> I almost left it as Aziraphale using “Jay” as the new name but Joshua worked better thematically and let me make the Gosh Josh joke. Otherwise you’d have gotten one about Jays actually being a type of crow.  
> Palmer was picked as the family name for the archangels as it means both one who’s travelled to the Holy Land and one who sells indulgences. So both holy and corrupt at the same time.  
> The description of the symbol underground and the processional on the roadway is a reference to Odegra and the M25.  
> A JOKE I DIDN’T GET TO USE: I cut a partially written scene in the summer talking about the legal wrangling with the Palmers, where you actually got to see Dagon acting as his lawyer. He referred to her as Lord of the Files and Master of Torts. Please steal this joke and use it elsewhere  
> Deneholes are found across southern England and usually do include a pit shaft into some tunnels and chambers. What the heck they were for is a matter of debate, but they are pre-roman era construction  
> WHO’S THE OTHER KILLER? A pale rider with the hunt club. This was intended as both another death reference AND a Wild Hunt reference, another death omen. The Uffington White Horse is also one of the best known chalk hill figures. Myths overlap and sometimes conflict. Assume Anthony kicked his ass… With his husband’s permission. They _live_ here and won't let something else in.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I received this prompt the 19th of September. I basically did NanoWriMo in October
> 
> If you enjoyed this you may also enjoy:  
> [A bit snug](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259320/chapters/45802294) Canon divergence where they share a body. with similar themes of mutually supporting each other through dealing with trauma. It also has a happy ending.
> 
> If you just need something light as a palette cleanser after this:  
> [Bad Words, Good Deeds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879954) Getting together post-Armageddon. Featuring Crowley getting a hug and being tucked inside Aziraphale's shirt for snuggles. it's real, real soft.
> 
> * * *
> 
> and many thanks to Elf_on_the_shelf for beta-ing this thing to fix all my typos and making time line in last chapter clearer!


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